


The Red Ranch

by PrairieMule



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Blackwater Never Happened, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Takes place in 1898, animal death (hunting)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2020-07-10 06:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 42,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19901344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrairieMule/pseuds/PrairieMule
Summary: Finally retiring from the outlaw life, the infamous Van der Linde Gang purchases some cheap land in Northern California. Will they be able to make it as peaceful ranchers? Or will their outlaw pasts catch up to them? Some things are far easier said than done.An everyone lives/not everybody dies ranching AU!





	1. Enter, Pursued by Mayhem (Monday, March 7, 1898)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I've been writing this story since the end of December 2018, but I'm only now posting it. I wanted the whole thing complete before I started posting my chapters . . . however life got in the way a few times, so I currently have about 150K of this written, and intend to get it up to around 200K or so. We shall see I guess.
> 
> I wanted to write a generally happy story where the gang doesn't have such a tragic end. There will still be dilemmas and danger. But I'm not here to write another tragedy.
> 
> I admit I'm very nervous about sharing my work, as I don't often. Please let me know what you think!

Snow was not unfamiliar to Arthur. He’d traveled through it, he’d camped in it, as a kid he’d play in it. But he’d never spent the winter on a mountain so thoroughly surrounded by it. Arthur stared out the dining room window for a moment, watching the wind blow, kicking up snow into powdery blusters. Fortunately it was no longer falling from the sky, but what was on the ground wasn’t going anywhere besides where the wind took it. And yet, winter was coming to its rightful end, spring would arrive in less than a month, bringing with it new life and opportunities.

With a heavy sigh, he turned around to face the table. “Hey, John. Wake up.” Arthur smacked the sleeping man’s feet off the dining room table, jolting awake he flailed and fell from the chair.

“Ugghh . . . Christ, Arthur.” John rubbed his head, moaning with a pain that was not likely related to hitting the floor. “What time is it?”

The older man huffed. “6:15 in the morning. Get up.”

“Not so loud,” John rasped, putting his hands to his ears, “had too much to drink last night.”

“This ain’t loud, boy.” Arthur rumbled, then gradually began to raise his voice. “But I can get loud. So move it!”

“Okay, okay!” John stumbled to his feet. “Remind me what we’re doing today?”

“We’re going into town for supplies. It’s also about time we order in materials.”

“When do we leave?”

“Five minutes. Don’t be late.” Arthur turned, giving John a smirk over his shoulder before heading to the door.

“Come on now Arthur, you’re just picking on me.”

Arthur threw up a hand dismissively. “Naw, I told you yesterday when we was leaving. Not my fault you’re a heavy sleeper. People been having breakfast at that table since 5:30am. Yet you snored through all of that.”

John went to say something else, but was cut off. Arthur turned again and put a firm hand on his shoulder. “No more excuses, we’re just wastin’ time. ‘Sides, I’ve seen you get ready quicker than five minutes before.” Now Arthur smiled and gave John a few pats. “How many times have we all woken up to a sudden gunfight, huh?”

John sighed, “yeah, you’re right.”

“‘Course I’m right. See you in five.” The older man gave John a two-finger salute, then walked out the front door, headed for the barn.

Arthur struggled a bit to get the door closed to the farmhouse once he exited. The north wind was particularly harsh today, winter and spring fighting for dominance. It was cold, too, so he wore his warmest clothes. A great blue shotgun coat with thick wool lining, as well as a fur lined black leather vest and gloves. Arthur kept his bandana over his face as he trudged through the snow towards the barn. Luckily the frequent comings and goings between the two structures had created a pathway in the deep snow. But with the wind as bad as it was today, it had partially refilled the path, making the trek more difficult.

When he reached the barn, Lenny was already there, getting two of their shire horses ready for the journey. The young man waved as Arthur once again fought the wind with a door. “Did you find John?”

With the door latched, Arthur pulled his bandana down and shook the snow from his coat. “Yeah, the damn fool was still sleeping at the table.”

“You’re joking! How much did he have to drink?”

“Enough, clearly.”

Lenny laughed. “I hope I never get that wasted so long as I live.”

“You’re still young, you’ve got plenty of time to screw up.”

“True, Arthur.” Lenny let his laugh die down. “Wanna help me with these horses?”

Arthur nodded, walking up to one of the shires, the brown one. “Hey there girl” he cooed, then he gave her a few pats before attaching her harness to the wagon. “You check to see if we got everything loaded? How’s the wagon?”

“The wagon looks to be in fine shape, wheels are on good. And we’ve got plenty of provisions for the road if things go bad. Threw in some extra blankets too.”

“Good. It’ll take us a few hours in this weather to get to town, but it’s only cold and windy. Not even snowing. It should die down by the time the sun rises.”

With the wagon ready to go, Arthur and Lenny each took a barn door, slowly but surely pushing them open against the northern wind. Arthur was physically stronger, and had his open first, the wind finally aiding him when it pushed the door fully open up against the barn. He went to help Lenny, their strength combined made for a much easier job, the second door was opened in no time.

Arthur returned to the wagon, hoisting himself up into the drivers seat and taking the reins. He encouraged the reluctant horses to exit into the blustering wind. After several hesitant whinnies from the shires, they tromped forward. As the wagon exited the barn, Arthur reached up and pushed his black gambler’s hat down. He’d managed to keep the hat for twenty-four years, the last thing he needed was the wind to take it.

Once the wagon was clear of the barn doors and brought to a stop, Lenny went to pull the doors closed. After struggling and yanking the first door, the wind caught it and the big door slammed shut by itself, Lenny barely had time to get out of the way. The second door he braced his back against before the heavy north wind could rip it from him, slowly walking into the barn and allowing the bluster to push it against his back until he brought it to a close. Once he made it back outside, Lenny pulled himself into the seat next to Arthur. The younger man wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. “Damn it’s cold. I hate March.”

“You reckon I should leave you here?” Arthur teased.

“No! I want to come with. You asked me to.”

“Yeah, well, seemed like you could use a break from being cooped up. You haven’t got to go on a supply run yet.”

“Yes, thank you. Even if it is so windy that my bones are getting brittle and I’m turning blue. I’ll be happy to get away from Bill’s drunk ass and Ms. Grimshaw’s constant nagging.”

“Aw, she’s not so bad. She’s gotta deal with all of us. Can’t blame her for being irritable.” Arthur sighed. “Speaking of irritable, if John doesn’t get his sorry ass out here in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to drag him out, even if that means he don’t got no clothes on.”

As if on cue, the door to the farmhouse flew open and John stumbled out, having lost grip on the doorknob. He went to shut it but made little progress. After about ten seconds with no luck, Javier came from inside and helped pull it close. John took a second to catch his breath, then made a run for the wagon, he slowed down significantly once he hit the snow, wading through it like molasses.

John kept his head down the whole time, keeping the wind from his eyes. When he reached the wagon, he went to climb into the driver’s seat. Finally looking up, he saw Lenny had beat him to it. “God damn it.” John grumbled to himself, then shouted. “Do I really gotta sit in the back, don’t I have seniority or something?”

Arthur pulled out his pocket watch, checking the time. The smug grin he wore was hidden by his bandana. “No, you lost seniority when you showed up late. Now get in the back already so we can get going.”

John grumbled some more, but knew better than to continue to complain at that point. He kicked his way through the snow to the rear of the wagon and climbed in. At the very least he’d be more protected from the winds, and in these conditions that more than made up for the bumpy ride he was psyching himself up for.

“You both ready?” Arthur shouted over the wind.

“Sure am, Mr. Morgan.” Lenny nodded with enthusiasm

“Not really, but I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?!” John yelled from the back.

“No, you do not!” Arthur laughed, then he whipped the reins. “Yaw!”

The horses grunted, beginning to move. It took a great deal of effort for them to gain the momentum needed to plow through the snowdrifts. With enough encouragement from their driver, the shires accelerated to an acceptable speed. Arthur lead them to the heavily used trail that would eventually connect to a main road.

The winding trail took them through snow-covered pines, past rocky cliff sides, and over freezing creeks. Arthur’s familiarity with the trail and skill as a driver combined with the strength and determination of the horses lead to a surprisingly smooth ride, despite the wind, snow, twists and turns. At last the path broke off onto a well-traveled dirt road. Arthur eased up on the horses, they’d put forth quite a bit of effort, they deserved to take it slow for a while.

Other than Arthur’s occasional encouragement to the horses, the riders remained mostly silent for the first part of the journey. It would be too difficult to talk to each other over the blistering wind. The sun had cracked the horizon about twenty minutes after starting out. Only after an hour into the trip, when the sun fully lit up their part of the Earth, did the winds begin to die.

Feeling the warmth on his face, Arthur pulled down his bandana and let out a content sigh, in spite of himself. “Making good time. We’ll be back before dinner I reckon.”

“Ugh. Can we find something to eat in town?” Asked Lenny, “I would love to go at least one day not having to eat Pearson’s ‘food’.”

Arthur gave him the side eye. “If you pay for it, then yes.”

There was a pause. “Never mind then.”

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. He looked over his shoulder, seeing the blankets they’d brought having grown a large lump. “How you doin,’ John?”

The blanket pile shifted. “Do I have to answer?” Came the muffled reply.

“Come on John, we’re gonna go have some fun in a small mountain valley town. You should be doin’ great!” Arthur’s gruff voice was laced with sarcasm.

The pile puffed out where Arthur could only assume John had exhaled a tremendous sigh.

“We’re going to Little River, right?” Asked Lenny.

“Yes, we’re going to little Little River. It’s the closest town.”

“I haven’t been yet.” Lenny took a deep breath. “You think they’re gonna be okay with me?”

“What you mean, Lenny?”

Lenny gave him an incredulous look. “What you think I mean, Arthur?”

The big man’s face remained blank before he realized and sighed. “If you’re asking me if I think the town is racist, I wouldn’t be the one to ask. I wouldn’t know.”

Lenny nodded and shrugged. “I suppose that’s fair.” He paused a second. “Well have you seen any other folks like me at least?”

Arthur thought for a moment. “A few around I guess.”

“That’s a start.” The young man let out a couple awkward laughs.

“Don’t worry, kid. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Besides, we’re out west. California’s pretty far removed from all that old garbage.”

“I’m going to take your word for it, but a small secluded town is a small secluded town. Out west or not.” Lenny was a smart kid, having dealt with far more in his short life than most people on their deathbeds. As such, Arthur did not take Lenny’s concern lightly.

The remainder of their journey was uneventful, just idle chitchat to pass the time. It was around 10:00am when the small town came into view. Little River was located in a valley between mountains with a, believe it or not, little river winding through close by. There were evergreen and deciduous trees clustered around the valley with wildlife abound. Far less snow was left in the valley due to the lower altitude. That aside, a beautiful dusting of the stuff covered the buildings in the distance.

Arthur removed the bolt-action rifle slung over his shoulder, using the butt to nudge the blankets. “Get up, Marston. Don’t think I haven’t heard you snoring back there.”

The blankets fell away as John sat up, groggy and irritated. “We there yet?”

“Yes, now I don’t ever want to hear you complain about my driving or not being able to sit in the front again.” Arthur lectured. “Getting to sleep the whole way here.” He grumbled the last bit to himself and Lenny.

“Yeah yeah, fine.” John yawned. “Real smooth driving, cowboy.”

Arthur ignored him. “We’re going to the general store first. Me and Lenny will go in while you watch the wagon. Once everything is loaded we’re going to the post office. Is there anything you boys wanna do in town before we head back?”

“Saloon.” John said flatly.

“What, you wanna get in a fight at 10 in the morning?” Arthur shot back, wry as ever.

“No, I just want to see what the locals are like. Didn’t have a chance last time.”

“Okay, if that’s yer excuse.” Arthur shook his head. “How ‘bout you, Mr. Summers?”

“I wanna check out the local saloon too.” Lenny’s young eagerness was showing.

Arthur sighed. “Guess that’s settled then. We’ll stop by ‘for we leave.”

•••••

The town’s main street was clear of snow, there was enough traffic through the streets that the snow could never last. John pulled himself fully from the blanket nest he’d made, then he sat on the edge of the wagon to get a better view. Though he would never say it to him flat out, Arthur was a good driver, and John didn’t fear falling off due to some sudden jolt.

The general store was located about halfway down the street, on the southern side. The store was a bright red, it had likely been freshly painted before winter. It had a large picture window displaying some candy and other perishables. Across the street and down a few buildings was the dingy saloon; a couple patrons were sat on the upstairs balcony, likely having spent the night there. They were observing the comings and goings through town. Which there weren’t a lot of. So naturally their sights were set on the three newcomers. John did his best not to glare at the onlookers as Arthur brought the wagon to a stop.

“Okay John, stay put. This shouldn’t take very long.” Arthur handed John the rifle he’d brought with him then nudged the young man next to him. “Let’s go, Lenny.”

Once the two entered the store, John slung the rifle over his shoulder and jumped down from the wagon, stretching out. As his arms reached far above his head, a couple pops could be heard. John winced at the sudden pain, but quickly felt better overall. He adjusted his black coat, then leaned up against the wagon and watched his companions through the window. Lenny was taking a keen interest in some red candy in a jar, while Arthur handed a list over to the clerk who turned around and called for someone.

Bored, John returned to the back of the wagon. As he climbed in, he noticed the same saloon patrons still staring at him. Once again, John ignored them and waited in the back. He patted around his coat pockets, searching for his cigarettes, only to find absolutely nothing. He groaned his annoyance involuntarily.

About five minutes later, a couple young men, probably teenagers, came out of the store with crates. John mumbled “finally,” then he moved to the end of the wagon and helped load the various boxes of provisions and other necessities.

Arthur and Lenny brought out several crates as well. After a successful bit of teamwork, the wagon was fully loaded. In the process, John had subtly lifted the pack of cigarettes from the shorter teenager’s coat pocket, too cheap to buy his own pack. Lenny ran back into the store for the final crate, and Arthur did a quick once over of everything, making sure they received what they’d ordered. Satisfied, he returned to the driver’s seat.

John clambered over the boxes and crates, trying not to smash or shatter anything. He found the bags of flour stacked in the corner closest to Arthur, deciding it would be safest to settle there. Lenny reappeared from inside, he went up to John, handing him the final box to put in back, then he ran around the front of the horses and climbed up next to Arthur.

“You’re not going to get crushed when I get the horses going, are you Marston?”

John smacked Arthur on the shoulder. “No, I’m fine. I’m not gonna die by vegetable suffocation.”

“Just making sure. Yer so damn skinny, it wouldn’t take much to snap you in half.” Arthur turned slightly and gave John a light shove. “On to the post office.”

John grumbled some more, but chose not to bite back. “I’m too hung over for this.” He muttered.

With a crack of the reins and a, “let’s go,” from Arthur, the two shires moved down the street towards the train station, which doubled as a post office. The little town was lucky enough to have active railway tracks. It was, along with the livestock auction yard, likely the only thing keeping the town alive. The station was located at the very end of the main street, it appeared to be the best kept structure in town. Often the first and last thing travelers would see of Little River, no surprise it was well taken care of. First and last impressions are what stuck.

“Lenny, you’re gonna wait out here this time.” Arthur said once they arrived at the station.

“You sure that’s a good idea? I’m so young, people always trying to take advantage of me.” The young man replied, John wasn’t so dull as to realize he was actually hinting at something else.

“Won’t be long, you’ll be fine.” Arthur grunted as he stood. “‘Sides, I’m trying to give you privacy to eat that candy you stole.”

Lenny went red in the face. “How did you-?”

“Been around longer than you, kid. It’s not so easy to sneak one by me. Yer smart in many ways, but also a complete dunce in so many others.”

John laughed. “I saw you eyeing those, you can’t be so obvious.” John pulled out the pack of cigarettes he’d snatched and flashed them. “Be more like me.”

Arthur glanced at the little box and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well . . . at least I have candy now and you guys don’t.” Lenny proudly presented the small jar from his coat pocket. “Better than cigarettes.”

Arthur climbed down. “I’m devastated. How will I go on?” he drawled out, ever the master of sarcasm. “Better save me one,” he added.

Lenny smiled, then gave a salute. “Yes, Mr. Morgan.”

John handed off the rifle to Lenny, then once again leaped over the side of the wagon. Arthur gave him a nudge and gestured for him to follow. John trailed behind the taller man into the post office side. There was only one person in front of them, a middle aged farmer picking up two parcels. With his transaction complete, Arthur stepped up to the counter.

“How may I help you thi’s’mornin’?” The attendant asked, monotone and bored.

Arthur pulled out an envelope containing an order. “Need to post this.”

The attendant took it along with the money Arthur laid out. “Anything else?”

“Yes, picking up a few packages. Should be under the names Arthur Callahan and Aiden O’Malley.”

“Okay sir, let me check.” The clerk turned around, taking a look through the various cubbies of packages, he grabbed a couple parcels and returned to the counter. “These two are Mr. O’Malley’s, I’ll go check again for Callahan.”

“Thank you kindly.” Arthur nodded, then he turned to John. “Take these to the wagon, will ya? Be right out.”

John complied, grabbing the packages. They were lightweight. He had no idea what was in them, but considering they were for Dutch, it was probably clothes. As he opened the door he heard Arthur say to the attendant, “I also need to post this letter.”

John’s brows reached for his hairline, curiosity struck him and he hesitated, but he knew better than to try and eavesdrop on Arthur in an empty station, especially when he’d been told to go outside. So he exited without hearing more.

Lenny was preoccupied with the hard candy in his mouth, not even registering John’s return. “Any good?” John asked.

The young man jumped in his seat, startled. “Oh Christ, John. You scared the shit outta me.” Lenny placed a hand over his heart.

John smirked, “how you gonna watch the wagon when someone who isn’t even sneaking up on you takes you by surprise?”

“Uhh . . .” Lenny’s jaw went agape as he struggled for a reply. After a few moments, the candy nearly rolled out, Lenny shut his mouth quick before it could. He swallowed the juices in his mouth, then answered. “Arthur said you’d be out fast, so I wasn’t worried.”

John looked to the ground shaking his head, but continuing to smile. “I hate to say it, but Arthur’s right. You are a dunce in so many ways.”

“He also said I was smart.” Lenny puffed out his chest a little.

“You know I don’t agree with everything Arthur says, right?”

It took Lenny a second to register, but then he laughed. When he stopped, he turned serious. “You guys have got to work out whatever got you at each other’s throats.”

John lost his smile. “That’s none of your concern, Lenny.”

Lenny went solemn as well, realizing his mistake. “I s’pose that’s true. I’m just the new kid. I don’t know the full history of everyone.” Lenny sighed, muttering something to himself.

John found his way to the corner of the wagon with the flour sacks, tossing the parcels in, then he pulled himself over the side instead of clambering over crates again. “I’m not mad, Lenny. Just . . . don’t mention it, I guess.”

“You got it, Mr. Marston.”

John tensed at the formality, but he supposed Lenny was trying to show respect. John went to lighten the mood when the station door opened and Arthur walked out carrying a single long box. He handed it up to Lenny before getting back into the seat. “Put that in the back, Lenny.”

The young man handed the box over to John who found a place for it amongst the crates.

“That box has got some weight to it, care to tell us about it?” Lenny inquired.

Arthur cracked a small smile. “You’ll see, eventually.”

“That don’t bode well.” John began. “A ‘you’ll see’ from Morgan is about as promising as betting on a donkey in a horse race.”

“The only donkey I see is you, you ass.” Arthur shot back.

John threw up is arms. “Got me there.”

Before they could continue to bicker, Lenny interrupted. “So were you serious about stopping by the saloon ‘fore we leave?”

“If that’s _really_ what you two want. We drove a long while to get here, may as well spend some time in town.”

“Yes, the saloon please.” Lenny replied.

“Saloon.” John said, flat as ever.

Arthur exhaled, “okay then.” With everyone settled, Arthur turned the horses back around, going down the main street again. A couple people stepped out in front of the wagon on the way there. Giving curious looks to the three of them, Arthur only tipped his hat and gave friendly hellos. John remained indifferent. He did, however, check the balcony of the saloon again as they approached. The ogling patrons were nowhere in sight. John was glad for it. Once they reached the outside of the saloon, Arthur pulled the wagon to a stop. “I’ll stand guard this time, you two have twenty minutes.”

“Only twenty?” Lenny practically pleaded, handing the rifle back to Arthur.

Arthur strapped his rifle back to its rightful place over his shoulder. “That’s more than enough time to get a good look at the place and get a couple drinks. I don’t need you two wasted on the way back.”

John sighed and stood. “Okay, boss.”

Lenny gave a nod then went to get down when Arthur grabbed his arm. “What is it, Arthur?” the youngest of them glanced over, nervous.

Arthur let go of Lenny, who stayed put, and looked over at John getting ready to jump. “Hold on, Marston.”

“Christ alive. What now?” John stopped mid motion, exasperated.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose with a finger and thumb. “I just want to remind the two of you to _not_ get into any trouble. We can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves. Mind yer own business and be polite.”

“You don’t gotta tell us, Morgan.” John said. “We know.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder again, “I thought you knew, but Lenny lifting the candy and your want to go into the saloon in the first place has shown me otherwise. Not to mention _you_ stole something too. I s’pose it’s fine that you wanna go in, but be careful.”

“Stop worrying so much, it’ll be just fine.” John vaulted down. “What’s the worst we could do?”

Arthur shook his head and chuckled. “Oh, I can think of a lot of things we could do, and _have_ done before. So don’t let old habits take over.”

John gave an exaggerated “Yes sir!” then he walked up the steps, turning and waiting for his younger companion.

Lenny followed close behind, but not before tossing a red hard candy at Arthur, who miraculously caught it. Arthur tipped his hat in thanks and reached into his satchel, putting the candy away and pulling out a leather bound book and pencil.

“You didn’t actually have to give him one.” John muttered quietly to Lenny as they approached the door.

“Aw, he asked for one. Also he’s right about not drawing attention, I shoulda thought it through before I took them. Even something this small could blow up in our faces.”

John smiled at the thought of candy bringing the whole lot of them down. But the kid was right. And unfortunately that meant Arthur was too. John shook his head and reached for the doors, pushing them open.

The first thing he noticed about the saloon was the lack of patrons, only a couple men sat at a corner table near the stairs. But that was to be expected, considering it wasn’t even noon yet. The walls were decorated excessively and nearly exclusively with animal skins and skulls. The only break from dead things were the two landscape paintings, one of a desert behind the bar, and one of a prairie on the stairwell opposite the entrance. Upstairs there were several rooms available for the night, along with the door to the balcony. Overall, it looked better than John expected from the outside, but it was still a rundown saloon in a rundown town.

John took one step in and the floorboard beneath him squeaked. “Of course.” He mumbled to himself.

The barkeep looked at the two of them with suspicion. To be expected. It was hard to blame folks in a town like this for being wary of unfamiliar people. Nonetheless, he greeted them with kindness. “Good morning boys, what can I get for you?”

“Whiskey.” John walked to the bar, dropping a fifty cent piece on the counter.

“Wasting no time, I see.” Said the barkeep, a thin middle-aged gentleman with greying black hair and sharp features. He pulled out a shot glass and whiskey bottle, pouring with precision.

John threw his head back and gulped it down. It wasn’t too bad.

Lenny stood at the bar next to him. “What you got for food, Mister?”

“Beef stew or roasted chicken breast today.”

“How much for the stew?”

“Three dollars.”

Lenny put three dollar bills on the counter. “The beef stew please.”

“I’ll get that for you, son.” The barkeep left temporarily.

John gave him a curious look. “Where’s that money from, Lenny? Didn’t seem so willing to buy food when Arthur asked you about it earlier.”

“Candy’s not the only thing I took, John.” Lenny gave him a wink.

“Oh lord.” John exhaled. Then he spoke quietly. “Hope it wasn’t very much.”

Lenny replicated the low volume. “No, only four dollars. Just picked it off the kids helping us load the wagon.”

The barkeep returned with a steaming bowl of beef stew, it smelled pretty good. It had a generous amount of beef along with a variety of vegetables. Much better than anything Pearson would’ve made.

“Thank you, sir.” Lenny took the bowl to a nearby table, digging in greedily.

The barkeep turned to John “Do you need anything else?”

“Another whiskey, please.”

Once again, his shot glass was filled. John threw it down in a flash, then asked for another. He was getting ready to down his fourth shot when an unfamiliar, crackly voice called out to him from behind. “Where you from, cowboy?”

John turned around, it was one of the two men from the corner table. “Huh?”

“I said, ‘where you from?’”

“Nowhere in particular.” John replied.

The man chuckled. “So is Nowhere the town, and Particular the state?”

John cocked his head to the side. _“Huh?”_

The stranger’s smile widened. He was several inches shorter than John, but a little thicker. Almost everything he wore was a shade of blue. From the scout jacket to the spurs, and especially the bandana around his neck. “You seem pretty dense, so I’m going to make this as clear as possible.” He poked John in the chest, a sudden nasty scowl taking the smile’s place. “We was watching you come into town, and we don’t like new people.”

John rolled his eyes, pushing the man’s hand away. “Listen mister, I’m just minding my own business with my friend here. I don’t want any trouble.”

The man ignored him and continued on, poking him again. “And we especially don’t like people who encroach on our territory. I know you’re with those people who bought the ranch up the mountain a ways. That land belongs to us.”

John could tell the man was clearly drunk. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He lied. “You got me confused with someone else.” Again, a lie. “You’ve probably had too much to drink.” Not a lie.

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of this so easily.” He looked over his shoulder. “Roy, get over here.”

The other man at the back table stood and stalked over. The barkeeper let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh lord no. Not again.” He muttered to himself, taking a few steps away from the bar.

John was hoping to defuse the situation, but so far it was getting worse. As the second man approached, John saw Lenny eyeing them carefully from his table, still eating, but the kid was ready to spring into action if necessary. John got some small relief knowing he had able backup. He didn’t even want to think about getting Arthur involved, it would turn into a slaughter.

John threw up his hands, backing into the bar. “Listen, boys. You don’t want to do this. I promise you.” He took his hat off and placed it on the counter.

The second man, Roy, scoffed. “Think you’re tough stuff, huh? You look like a sapling. Probably as brittle as a dead twig.”

Looking him over, Roy was the same height as John, sporting the same head to toe blue as his companion and wearing an identical blue bandana. With one on either side of him, John didn’t really have a way out. Couldn’t hop the bar quick enough, couldn’t charge forward, they’d grab him. Either talk out or fight out. And talking wasn’t working.

As John went to reel back his right arm to punch Roy, he was grabbed on either side at his shoulders and forearms. Before he could fight free he was thrown face first to the ground. John got to his hands and knees, but a strong boot pushed him back down. The man then leaned forward and put his full weight on him with a knee between his shoulder blades. Suddenly John heard furious footfalls and then the weight was gone. Looking up, Lenny had rushed the man and tackled him off John, the both of them rolling towards the stairwell.

The taller one, Roy, went to help his buddy as the two tussled and rolled on the floor. Seeing this, John scrambled to his feet and grabbed him from behind. Wrapping his arm around the man’s neck in a chokehold before he reached the other two. Roy was somewhat inebriated, so his coordination was bad. John easily had the upper hand.

“Get offa me!” Roy yowled, elbowing John in the side and tugging on his arm.

“Not a chance.” John held on tight. “Just remember, you started it!” He growled back.

Roy started wrenching back in forth to pull loose, John did not let up. “Need some help here, Jeremiah!” Roy yelled to his companion, realizing he was stuck.

The fight between Lenny and the one apparently named Jeremiah did not end in the kid's favor. Jeremiah had gotten to his feet and kicked the still floored Lenny in his face. A painful yelp erupted from the young man. He curled in on himself and held his cheek. Hopefully he hadn’t broken any teeth.

Jeremiah stumbled a few paces then ran at the two of them. Thinking fast, John pushed Roy forward into his charging friend. The two collided, but only the shoved Roy fell. Jeremiah, on the other hand, stumbled once more then continued forward and swung at John, missing as he ducked to the side. John was stuck in a defensive position, only able to dodge the man’s furious swings. Eventually, one connected in his gut. Causing him to groan, then immediately another to his face. John feigned a heavier pain than he was feeling, then quickly retaliated, upper cutting Jeremiah directly under the chin and taking him by surprise.

During this particularly noisy commotion, doors upstairs slammed shut and several new voices yelled out, then a few sets of feet rushed down the stairs. Jeremiah shoved John away and backed up towards the recovering Roy just as two more men in excessive blue appeared behind them from the stairwell.

In the midst of the fistfight, Lenny had crawled around a couple tables and ended up on the floor near John, struggling to stand. John quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him up. Lenny was wobbly, missing his hat, but still in it.

The four men in blue laughed at the two of them. “You seem to be in quite the bind, boys.” Jeremiah mocked. “We sure as shit ain’t just letting you leave now.”  
John grinned, breathing heavily. “You weren’t gonna let us leave in the first place.”

“Well . . . that’s true.” Roy laughed. The four started slowly approaching, spreading out, probably with the intention to encircle them.

John and Lenny backed up, matching their attackers’ slow pace. Lenny glanced to John, then the exit a distance behind them. He spoke quietly, not necessarily of his own volition. “We could just-” he took a wheezing breath “We could just make a run for it.”

John didn’t look over but spoke with his teeth clenched, softly. “We can’t let the town see us fighting. Not to mention Arthur’s out there.”

The four must have noticed them talking, because in a surprise burst of speed, three of them were on John while only Jeremiah grabbed Lenny, currently the worse off of the two.

Once again, John was seized on either side, however this time a third person was there to pummel into him while he was held in place. Meanwhile, Lenny was attempting a fistfight, but not getting a single hit in.

John struggled against the grip, but he was being held by the two fresh fighters. Roy was giddy as he punched him repeatedly in the gut and face. John’s vision was going blurry when he heard the front door slam shut and a familiar deep, gravelly voice broke through the violence. “Anyone care to tell me just what the _hell_ is going on?”

The men stopped in their tracks. John looked over, groggy. Striding forward was a tall and broad shape. Arthur. His brow was furrowed in anger. At exactly whom, it was hard to tell.

One of the fresh fighters let go of John, who was then grabbed by Roy to make sure he wouldn’t go anywhere. John continued to struggle to no avail. He tried to talk, but the second a sound came out of him, he was smacked. So he kept his mouth shut for now.

The man walked towards an enraged Arthur, a smug smile on his lips. “This? This is none of your damn bussi-”

Arthur gave zero notice. Simply punched him square in the face. The man collapsed to the floor, laid out in an instance.

Jeremiah let go of Lenny in surprise. The kid backed away several paces from his attacker. Seeing this, Arthur took the rifle strapped to his shoulder and tossed it to his young companion, who, miraculously as Arthur catching the candy, caught it. “Lenny. Go watch the wagon.” He ordered.

With no protest whatsoever, the young man stumbled outside, rifle in hand.

When the door shut, Arthur looked forward once more, stepping over the unconscious man. “I’ll ask again, and perhaps one of you will be so kind as to actually tell me this time. What the hell is going on?”

He’d always been excellent at intimidation. For over a decade it had practically been his job. Arthur knew full well that he was big, and he knew what a voice like his could do to people. John could remember being on the receiving end of that intimidation as a teenager, and it sent shivers down his spine then, even now as an adult he could still get to him. Though he would never let Arthur know that.

The three remaining men were silent, looking at each other for someone to step up. Not really much like men anymore. Arthur was losing what little patients he had left. “Are any of you gonna talk? Or can I just take my idiotic friend and go?”

Jeremiah finally got himself together, or maybe the fight had made him stupid, or maybe it was the fact that he was still tipsy. “You and your aptly named ‘idiotic friend’ are trespassing on our territory.” He stepped forward. “That ranch you bought? That’s property of the Sierra Pack.” He walked up, directly in front of Arthur, an attempt to stare him down. Though the little man realized how foolish that was too late, as Arthur loomed over him. Still, he swallowed nervously and continued. “And then you have the guts to come in here and challenge us while wearing blue.”

The look on Arthur’s face just about made John burst out laughing; he had to stop struggling against the two holding him to keep it in. The expression, something of a mix of annoyed confusion with a healthy helping of rage. “Blue?” Arthur exclaimed.

“Blue is the Sierra Pack’s color.” Jeremiah tried to explain, his tough act faltering more.

Arthur glared down at the man. “These are not the answers I’m looking for boy.” He seized Jeremiah’s collar, pulling him close, only the little man’s toes on the floor anymore. “And I’ll wear whatever color I damn well please.”

Jeremiah grabbed Arthur’s hand and tried to pry him off, all while yanking himself backwards, but Arthur’s grip was steadfast and powerful. Figuring his attempts were futile, Jeremiah simply looked over his shoulder and yelled, “stop gawking and get him!”

John was abruptly thrown to the floor once more as Roy and the other new fighter ran to Jeremiah’s aid.

In a poetic twist that made John smile despite his situation, Jeremiah quickly joined him on the hardwood as Arthur rolled his eyes and casually flung the small man to the side.

Roy made it to Arthur first and was meet with a right hook from Arthur to the gut, a groan escaped him as he faltered backwards. The fourth blue fighter took a couple swings at Arthur, who dodged them handily. On the third swing, Arthur grabbed his lunging fist and countered with a head-butt, causing his own black hat to fall off. Blue fighter number four stumbled, but the big man had kept a hold on him. With his left hand on his opponent’s arm to keep him standing, Arthur landed a solid heavy right punch directly on the man’s nose. He unceremoniously let go as number four collapsed, clutching his now bloody face.

Jeremiah attempted to get to his feet, but John wasn’t going to let his brother get all the glory. He tackled the man's legs, bringing the both of them down once again. Arthur glanced over momentarily, but it was enough of a distraction that Roy launched himself at him again.

He got one good hit on Arthur’s jaw, but if it hurt you’d never know. Arthur grabbed the back of Roy’s neck and slammed him face first into the bar top. The blue fool went limp in his grasp. So he let him go and Roy’s unconscious body slumped to the floor.

As John fought with Jeremiah on the floor, suddenly the man was hoisted away. John looked up to see that Arthur had him by the throat, pinning him against a wooden pillar in the saloon. John groaned, in pain and annoyance, as he finally stood without anyone trying to attack him.

Arthur growled lowly at the man in his clutches. “Ya know, at this point I don’t really care why you were fighting. Just know that if I ever see you again, you won’t be living through the encounter.” John watched with amusement as Jeremiah’s eyes widened. Then, just as with everyone else he’d fought in the saloon that day, Arthur tossed the man to the floor again.

Jeremiah crab crawled backwards towards the three collapsed bodies of his companions. Arthur stalked after him, each step emphasized by his spurs. “Now do me a favor and get yourself and your fellow trash outta my sight.”

The pathetic man in blue remained on the floor, in stunned silence. Arthur must have regained some patients, not kicking him in the face then and there. “Stand up, and drag one of your little friends out of here.”

Jeremiah snapped out of it, getting up and grabbing Roy. Hauling him bodily out towards the back door. Arthur turned his attention to the man with the bloody nose, shaking on the floor. “You’re not doing a great job playing dead, friend. I know you heard me. Grab the other one and get out of here.” His voice was almost playful, which only added to the intimidation factor.

Blue fighter number four gasped, slowly getting to his feet. He looked at John and Arthur warily.  
“You’re trying my patients, son.” Arthur rumbled in stark contrast to before.

Quickly the bloody man took a hold of the one-hit-knock-out and hauled him up and over his shoulder, following after Jeremiah and Roy.

John and Arthur watched them go. John was both relieved and frustrated. He let out a sigh to express this. Arthur gave him a quick glance, then looked over to the barkeep who’d remained flush against the racks of alcohol the whole time. The big man tossed some money on the counter. “A couple whiskey bottles, please.”

The barkeep broke out of his silent stupor. “Yes, mister. Right away.”

John saw Arthur’s hat on the floor and bent over to pick it up, he made an involuntary groan as he leaned over. Grabbing it, he stood back up, not groaning this time, then he walked over and pushed it down on his brother's dark blonde head.

“Thanks.” Arthur grunted, moving his hand up to adjust it.

“Don’t mention it.” John grumbled back, finding his own off-white hat still on the bar top and putting it on.

The barkeeper quickly returned with two bottles of whiskey. “Keep the change.” Arthur said.

“Th-thank you mister.”

Arthur leaned forward, speaking low, but not to intimidate. “You’re not gonna get the law involved in this, are you?”

He went wide-eyed. “Oh, no. I’d get killed if I tried. That god damn Sierra Pack gang is a menace.” He shook his head, then looked at Arthur square in the eyes. “Honestly, it was a pleasure to see you beat the shit outta them.”

A big smiled appeared on Arthur’s face. “Well, happy to oblige you then, sir.”

The barkeeper sighed. “Unfortunately, they’ll be back. They rented rooms here. I’m sure their things are up there still, and they’ll be wanting to collect.”

Arthur looked up to the second floor. John could tell he was debating something. It seemed even for Arthur, or rather especially for Arthur, old habits die hard. Very hard. But Arthur said nothing and made no moves.

The barkeeper spoke up again. “They mentioned a ranch, seemed to know you three?”

“Yes, mister - ?” John began

“Burrell, Ezra Burrell.”

John nodded. “Yes, Mr. Burrell. While we’ve never seen those men before, we did recently buy a ranch up the mountain a ways.”

Ezra looked at them knowingly. “I wish you luck with that.”

Arthur tipped his hat to the bartender. “Thank you, sir.” He grabbed the bottles from the counter and stood up straight. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have a bit of a journey ahead.”

“Of course, I s’pose I’ll be seeing you three around then?”

Arthur laughed at that. “If you’re not sour at us for the fight, then we may return in the future.”

Ezra smiled. “I ain’t sour, just hope it don’t happen again. ‘Sides, you three didn’t start it. Just finished it.”

Arthur nodded again. “See you ‘round then, Mr. Burrell.” He turned to John and muttered. “Find Lenny’s hat.”

After a quick look around, John saw it under a chair near the stairs. He wandered over to it. “Made quite the journey, didn’t you?” John mumbled to the hat as he collected it. He returned to the front of the saloon where Arthur was waiting by the door.

“Oh, before you go.” Began Ezra. “I almost forgot to ask your names.”

There was little hesitation. “Arthur Callahan.” Said Arthur Morgan.

“John Mars-Martin.” Stumbled John Marston.

Arthur gave John a subtle side-eye, then lifted the bottles to Ezra, giving him a polite nod, then pulled the door open and exited with John following close behind.

Lenny was sat stiffly in the driver’s seat, hands tight on the rifle, absent-mindedly running his thumb along the custom silver engravings in the blued steel. Upon seeing his two companions return, he exhaled a sigh of relief and gave a big, bloody smile. “So you survived?”

Arthur climbed up next to him. “Of course. It was easy.”

Lenny laughed. “Aw, I wish I coulda seen it.”

John grumbled to himself as he pulled himself into the back, returning to the flour sacks. “You didn’t miss much Lenny, he just beat up some already beaten men.”

Arthur got the horses moving, then turned and gave John a glare, which John tried not to react to. But he must have faltered without knowing it because Arthur’s face turned smug. He looked back to Lenny, then glanced at his rifle still clamped in the young man’s hands. Arthur tugged it away and replaced it with a whiskey bottle. “Here kid, you’re gonna need that for the pain.”

“Oh!” Lenny looked at the bottle in shock. “Thank you.” He took a second, then asked quietly, “how bad does it look?”

Arthur handed him a clean handkerchief. “Wipe some of that blood off and I might be able to tell.”

“While you’re at it, put this on.” John placed Lenny’s hat back on its owner’s head. “Apparently I’m the hat keeper today.” He said more to himself than anyone else.

“Thank you, John. I like this hat, but I was afraid to go back for it.” Lenny said, voice muffled by the cloth.

“Don’t mention it.” John repeated.

The wagon had reached the end of the main street, Arthur turned the horses towards the road that would lead them back to their trail. He opened the second bottle of whiskey and took a swig, then handed it back to John. “You need this more than I do.”

“I s’pose I do.” John took it, if not a little reluctant. Not because he didn’t want the alcohol, but because it was Arthur who was offering it to him. But after taking a drink, he decided his pride could take a back seat for a while and just be glad for the whiskey numbing the pain.

Lenny finished cleaning himself up. “Okay, blood’s mostly gone, how bad?”

Arthur took the kid’s face in one gloved hand, tilting Lenny’s head back and forth slowly, examining him. “Few scrapes, bloody nose. Lose any teeth?” Arthur released him, looking back to the road.

Lenny rooted around in his mouth for a little bit. “No, don’t seem like it.”

“Lucky kid.” Arthur said, then paused for a moment and shrugged. “Or maybe not. Even I still got all my teeth.”

“I’ll never understand how you, of all people, could still have all his teeth.” John chastised.

Arthur looked over his shoulder at the bloody and beaten John. “Maybe it’s cause I don’t get hit. Unlike somebody I know.”

“What the hell are you getting at?” John threw up the hand that wasn’t holding whiskey.

“I dunno, Mr. _Martin_. What do you think? And I thought you was supposed to be Mr. Van Winkle? You wanna tell me what happened?

“Well I screwed up. And I guess I’m John Martin now. Seeing as how that’s the first time I introduced myself in this town.”

“Do you even have a brain under all that hair, John?”

“Are we _really_ gonna do this now, Arthur?”

Arthur grunted and faced forward again. “I have a lot to say to you, Mr. Martin. But I’m going to have the intelligence to wait until we’re out of town before I lay into you.”

•••••

The quiet that followed was exactly what Arthur had wanted. It would be foolish to start an argument with John in the middle of town. In the fury they could reveal or say too much about themselves. So Arthur was glad to have shut them all up.

During the silence, John had tugged a blanket out from under a crate and wrapped himself up. Lenny slowly ingested the whiskey and nursed his wounds. Arthur pulled out his cigarettes and a match, lighting one up. He was irritated, and hoped to calm down some before he tried to talk to the two of them. Or really, it was just John he needed to talk to. Knowing Lenny, he probably didn’t do anything, or at the very least didn’t need to be harshly reprimanded.

It wasn’t until five minutes after they passed the last house in the town’s limits that Arthur spoke up. “I asked one simple thing of you, Marston.”

John groaned and rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”

“And you somehow manage to screw it up.”

“You heard the bartender, we didn’t start the fight.”

“Yes, and like the bartender said, I was the one who had to finish it.”

“Oh, so you’d have been okay with the fight, so long as we’d have won it?”

“No, John. But if you’re gonna be getting in fights, you should at least be able to, you know, _fight_.”

“You think I can’t fight, Morgan? I’ll fight you right here, right now.”

Arthur looked back at John, his voice dangerous. “We both know how that would go. Even if you weren’t already beat halfway into unconsciousness.”

“Oh yeah, Arthur. Always gotta let me know who’s boss, huh?”

“I am not trying to prove anything, John. Have you considered the fact that you have a woman and child you need to look out for? Why are you getting into fights that could end your life when Abigail and little Jack need you?”

“What does that have to do with the fight?”

“It has everything to do with it! You can’t be so damn reckless, John. What would happen to them if you got killed?”

“Well, I’m sure they’d be fine. They were fine when I left for a year. Came back and both Abigail and the baby were doing great.”

“That woman is crazy in love with you, John. And that kid needs his father. You risk all of that when you go out and do stupid things. You’re damn lucky nobody pulled a gun or knife.”

“And I’ve already told you that I didn’t start the goddamn fight.”

“So you didn’t. But you sure as shit didn’t do much to get out of it. Why did you not just leave? Why didn’t you come get me?”

“Because I thought we didn’t want the town to see us fighting. I thought we didn’t want to get the law involved.”

“That is true, John. I will grant you that. But next time, be a little louder so I can hear you sooner. How long had you been fighting before I came in? Lenny looked like he’d been kicked by a horse.”

Speaking of Lenny, Arthur noticed he’d tried to make himself as small and out of the way as possible during the argument. He couldn’t really blame the kid.

“Long enough that I’m going to be sore for the next week.” John grumbled.

“That’s why I gave you whiskey.”

“Thank you. Are we done?”

“For now? Yes. For good? No. I’m sure Dutch and Hosea are gonna want to hear all about this. We can’t exactly hide how beat up the two of you are. So I’m going to drop it for now. We don’t need to have this argument three times over.”

John said nothing, just went back to drinking the whiskey.

Arthur looked to Lenny again. “You okay, kid?”

Lenny stayed in his corner, shrunken. “Yes! Well . . . no. But I will be okay after some rest.”

“Then rest is what you’ll get.” Arthur said. “You didn’t lose the candy or money you stole, did you?”

“No I - ” Lenny bolted upright. “How did you know about the money?”

Arthur flicked the butt of the cigarette into the snow. “Come on, Lenny, I’m not that much of a fool. You deliberately bumped into both those kids. Playing it off as clumsy. I was a pretty good pickpocket in my time, before I got picked up by Dutch and Hosea. I know it when I see it.”

“Didn’t know you was a pickpocket in your youth.” Lenny said, curious.

“There’s much to learn about the lot of us, Lenny. You being so new.”

“I used hear a bunch of stories around the campfire and now when we gather to eat. Some of them are so wild I don’t know if I can believe it.”

“If it’s Uncle, probably shouldn’t believe it. If it’s Hosea, believe it.” Arthur grinned.

“Interesting, figured Uncle was full of shit.”

“Yes, in more ways than one.” Arthur added.

Lenny laughed at that, then flinched inwardly and groaned, having hurt himself from laughing too hard

“You really aren’t doing good, are you?”

“Nope, I’m gonna keep drinking this.” Lenny smiled and threw back some whiskey.

The remainder of the Journey was fairly quiet. Both John and Lenny were exhausted from the fight. Arthur could tell John was being moody. Though that would’ve been easy for anyone to see. His face was set in a perpetual scowl whilst wrapped up in a lovely knit blanket, sipping whiskey. It was pretty amusing to look at, actually. So Arthur kept his eyes on the road to keep himself from staring and laughing. Lenny, despite his condition, was in decent spirits, occasionally asking Arthur if certain stories he’d heard from various people were true or not. Arthur wasn’t always sure himself, but answered to the best of his ability. Eventually, though, both grumpy John and curious Lenny fell asleep from their mutual fatigue.

They’d left Little River about a quarter after 11am. The trip back took longer due to the load being far heavier for the horses and the fact that it was mostly uphill. It was around 5:30pm when the barn and farmhouse came into view. Fortunately it wasn’t nearly as windy or cold as it had been in the wee hours of the morning. Though the sun was now setting and the harsh chill would return soon. Arthur nudged Lenny awake, then he smacked John.

“Ow!” John woke with a start. “Do you have to keep waking me up like that?” John snapped.

“No.” Arthur said. “But I’m going to anyway.”

“Will this day ever end?” John said to nobody, looking at the sky.

“Well, you’ve slept through most of it already, and we’re nearly home. So yes, they day’s almost over.” Arthur replied.

Lenny looked at the farmhouse nervously. “Not looking forward to explaining what happened to everybody. I’ll probably have to repeat the story ten different times.”

“With over twenty people around? Yeah, that’s just how it goes. Everybody wants to know. Especially with the two of you looking like shit. The gang loves fight stories.”

When they reached farmhouse, Arthur lead the horses around to the back so they could load into the cellar and kitchen more easily. The three of them weren’t even fully down from the wagon when the back door opened. Pearson came wadding through the snow. “About time you boys returned. Did you get everything on the list? How’d it g- Jesus!” Pearson nearly leapt out of his skin, finally catching a glimpse of John. “What the hell happened?”

“Nice to see you too, Pearson.” John rasped. “It’s nothing to be worried about. We need to talk to Dutch and Hosea about it before we go spewing the story to everyone though.”

Pearson looked to Arthur. “Is he right, we don’t have to worry?”

Arthur clasped a hand on Pearson’s shoulder. “Don’t concern yourself. We’re fine.”

“Okay, Mr. Morgan.” He looked over to Lenny unloading crates. “I’ll go get some help for - Christ!” Lenny had turned around, Pearson getting a good look at his face. “You look even worse than John.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pearson.” Lenny replied. “I wasn’t aware.”

“Sorry, I’m gonna go get that help now.” Pearson walked away stiffly and returned shortly with Mac, Davey, and Sean. The three of which teased John and Lenny mercilessly the entire time they unloaded. Sean was particularly nasty, probably a few drinks in. It was a miracle a fight didn’t break out. But soon enough the wagon was unloaded and Arthur returned it the barn while the rest continued to sort and put away the fresh supplies. Having unhitched the horses and returned them to their stalls for a well-deserved rest, Arthur headed back for the farmhouse. Kicking through the snow and ready to finally be warm again.

The bustle inside the house was about at its peak evening hours. Right before dinner when everyone was hungry and restless. Arthur had been successfully dodging questions ever since they got back, but Tilly and Mary-Beth had managed to trap him right as he entered through the front door.

“What happened in town, Arthur?” Tilly asked

“John and Lenny wouldn’t tell us.” Said Mary-Beth

“And what makes you think I would?” Arthur replied, a little rougher than he intended.

“Oh, sorry to bother you then.” Tilly looked down and away.

Arthur sighed in annoyance with himself. “I apologize ladies, it’s been a long day and I need to go meet with Dutch and Hosea, John and Lenny should already be with them and I don’t want to keep them waiting any longer.”

Tilly smiled up at him. “We understand, Arthur. See you around.”

Arthur nodded to them and moved towards the stairwell, making his way up to the room Dutch had claimed as a study of sorts, though it doubled as a meeting room frequently. As he suspected, the four were waiting for him. “Sorry for taking so long, horses needed to be put away.”

“No need to apologize, Arthur.” Said Dutch, sitting at his desk with the window behind him. “But now that you’re here. We’ve got some things to discuss, don’t we?”

“Before we go into the details,” Arthur began, “I’m going to start off by saying the law wasn’t notified, and nobody besides the barkeep, who was a surprisingly decent feller, saw.”

What followed was a retelling of the day’s events starting from Arthur, the three of them butting in with their perspectives to fill in, John mostly covered the saloon fight. Dutch and Hosea listened intently, very rarely interrupting, but they were full of questions at the end. It was decided that nothing would likely come of the fight, and that the three of them were free to go, but not before they were reprimanded for carelessness. It was also now okay to let everyone else know what happened.

When Arthur finally got to go to bed, having repeated his side of the story no less than five times to various members of the gang, he pulled out his journal and put the finishing touches on his drawing of Little River’s main street from memory. He’d been very rudely interrupted by a bar fight.

_Today I went to Little River with John and Lenny for supplies and to visit the post office. What a surprise that John would want to go to the saloon. What a surprise that he’d end up in a fight. I almost don’t believe that he didn’t start it. But with Lenny and the barkeeper, a friendly older man by the name of Ezra Burrell, saying the other guys started it, I guess I have to believe them. Lenny got the worst of it, but John didn’t come out looking too pretty neither. I got hit in the jaw, didn’t really feel it. The man who punched me got to feel what it’s like to have your face slammed into the bar top. Dutch and Hosea gave us hell for fighting, but in the end they weren’t worried about it._

_Those Sierra Pack fellers (I will never understand that name, it’s stupid.) tried to tell me I couldn’t wear blue because it was their color. Blue is a goddamn primary color. They couldn’t have picked something more obscure or specific? They chose the whole spectrum of blue? Damn fools._

_Anyway. While I was at the post office, I sent that new letter I wrote a few days back to Eliza and Isaac. Told them I’ve turned to honest work and that we own a ranch now. I don’t know why I torture myself like this. Sending mail to ghosts. Every letter I’ve ever sent to them has probably been thrown out or read by some bored post office attendant. Good thing I don’t give a return address or sign with my name I guess. Nothing will ever come of it._


	2. Domesticated (Tuesday, March 8, 1898)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to mention that I've been editing this on my own, and chances are any glaring problems just don't stick out to me anymore.

Chopping wood behind the farmhouse was made more difficult by the cold. Arthur’s thick coat somewhat hindering his movements. Still, every morning before he ate, Arthur came outside and chopped a batch of firewood. They were on their third large felled tree of the winter. There was a good amount of branches left on it, they likely wouldn’t have to cut down another tree till next month, and by then they would be using far less wood, mostly just for cooking and not nearly as much for heating. 

Arthur stacked half the wood by the backdoor, making easy access for Pearson. The other half he carried inside to the fireplace in the large front parlor. Noticing the fire dying down, he placed the last dry log from yesterday’s batch on top of the flames.

Lenny was asleep in the chair near the hearth. A book face down in his lap. The boy’s face was still swollen. Arthur assumed John looked much the same, but he was asleep in his room upstairs with Jack and Abigail, so he didn’t know for sure. It was difficult for him to not think back on the previous day and worry. So keeping busy was about the only thing he could do that would keep his mind off it. But still, he couldn’t help but think what those Sierra Pack boys were up to.

Arthur walked back to the kitchen, going over the scenario in his head. He was suddenly knocked out of his reverie when he was quite literally knocked into by Mary-Beth. Arthur barely budged from the impact, but Mary-Beth just about fell to the floor, dropping a basket of dirty clothes. He immediately put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “I’m sorry, Mary-Beth. I didn’t see you there.”

She laughed it off, picking up the dropped garments. “No, no it’s my fault. I wasn’t paying attention and ran right into you.”

“Let me help you with that.” He offered.

She waved him off. “It’s only a couple things that fell out.” Mary-Beth tossed a few lost items back into the basket and picked it up from the floor. “I was actually going to look for you later. Me and the girls want to talk to you.”

Arthur looked side to side, then leaned in. “Am I in trouble?” He whispered, a playful grin on his face.

Mary-Beth laughed. “No, not at all. Honestly, you’re about the only man here that isn’t driving us up the wall.”

“If ya haven’t noticed, you don’t keep the greatest of company. So the competition ain’t too fierce.”

She giggled again. “You sure do think so little of yourself for someone so big.”

Arthur ignored the comment. "So what do you girls need me for?”

“Oh, well. We’re just bored, Arthur.” Mary-Beth admitted.

Tilly took this moment to appear from behind the other young woman. “Yeah, Arthur. We’ve been stuck in this house since January. We’re bored.”

“I don’t know what to tell you.” He removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “There’s not much else to do right now. We can’t start building on the ranch till the weather is better and we have materials. And we sure as shit ain’t goin’ robbin’.”

Tilly walked up next to Mary-Beth, putting her hands on her hips and looking up at him. “Lenny and John got to go to town yesterday, when are _we_ gonna get to go to town?”

Arthur put his hat back on his head. “Lenny and John got the shit kicked out of them yesterday. That really sound like the ideal day trip to you?”

Now Karen appeared behind Arthur. “Sure sounds a lot better than getting yelled at by Ms. Grimshaw. I’d much rather break my nose in a bar fight than hear one more nagging remark from that witch.”

Arthur was surrounded now. He threw up his hands. “Again, I don’t know what to tell you, we aren’t going back into town till sometime next week, and I can’t really risk bringing too many people, especially considering we pissed off those Sierra boys again.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Karen began. “The last exciting thing to happen around here was when those idiots tried to chase us out a month ago. It sure was fun getting to shoot them up.”

Arthur chuckled. “Yeah, that was a good time.” He turned around to face her fully, a serious expression on his face. “But that don’t mean we should be putting ourselves in danger just because we’re bored.”

“Coming from you, that is _rich_.” Karen smirked.

“What is going on in here?” Ms. Grimshaw rounded the corner, interrupting whatever smart remark Karen was going to say next. “There’s work to be done this morning. You can chat in the evening when everything is taken care of.” Susan looked up at Arthur as the other three ladies dispersed with grumbles. “You should know better than to encourage this type of behavior, Mr. Morgan.”

Before he could say anything, Ms. Grimshaw was miles away, off to make sure nobody else was slacking.

Arthur continued on to the kitchen as he attempted to do several minutes ago. It was about time he had his breakfast. Pearson bugged him about needing someone to go hunting, then served him so eggs, bread, and salted meat. It wasn’t too bad, the fresh supplies must have been helping out. He was joined at the dinning room table by a very hung-over Sean, a very tired looking Strauss, and a very intoxicated Swanson.

“You doing okay there, Mr. MacGuire?” Arthur asked, louder than he needed.

“Do I look like I’m doing okay, English?” Sean gave him a glare.

“You always look like this, so I don’t know.”

“Very nice. I feel like I’ve been shot in da head. Do ya know dat feelin’?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever taken a bullet to the skull. So no.”

“Well I haven’t either, but it must feel somethin’ an awful lot like dis.”

Arthur laughed. “An Irishman who complains about hangovers isn’t much of an Irishman, is he?”

“Don’t you start with me, Englishman. It’s a mix of the moonshine last night and Karen’s yellin’ dis mornin’. No mortal man could survive dat. But I did.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and moved on to Strauss. “You don’t seem to be doing too well either, Herr Strauss.”

Strauss chewed his food slowly. Then looked at him. “I did not sleep, Herr Morgan.”

“May I ask why?”

Strauss turned and glared at Swanson. “A certain reverend kept me up all night with some incompressible ramblings. No matter how many times I told him to go away.”

Before Arthur could ask Swanson, the priest began talking. “I am conflicted on all sides with the troubles of the future and the past. What are we doing here? Where will we go if the time comes that we must leave? Will god really forgive me, forgive all of us? Have I been forsaken, or have I been saved?” The reverend stood up. “I need a drink.” He stumbled off.

Arthur watched him go. “I can see how that could keep a man up at night.”

“Perhaps he will simply pass out tonight.” Struass muttered.

Sean spoke up. “I could always punch him out if ya need me to.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, don’t do that. He wouldn’t so much as pass out as pass on if you did that.”

“If you say so, Arthur. But we need our future bookkeeper nice and well rested for all da math he’s gotta do.” Sean leaned over and enthusiastically pat Strauss on the back. The old man gripped his fork harder, but said nothing.

“You can’t even read, Sean. Don’t talk about bookkeeping.” Arthur stood from the table with his plate. “And don’t slack on your chores today.”

“Yes, boss.” Sean said, sarcasm and all.

Arthur returned to the kitchen with his dirty dishes, leaving them for someone else to deal with. He thanked the cook, then carried on with his chores for the day.

•••••

A sigh escaped Abigail as she stood over the bed, staring down at the prone slumbering form of John. He’d gotten hurt pretty bad. “I’m a fool for loving you as much as I do.” She muttered to herself, seeing as how John was asleep.

“What’d you say, Mama?” She didn’t realize Jack wasn’t, though.

“Nothing, sweetie. You should go back to sleep it’s still early.”

“I’m not tired.” His voice was so little.

She sighed again. “Alright, we’ll go get you some breakfast, then maybe your Uncle Hosea can give you an early reading lesson.”

“Okay.” The small boy paused. “Will Papa be okay?”

Abigail put a hand to her heart. He was so cute. “He’ll be fine. I have to take care of him today, though. So I’m not going to be able to watch you as closely.”

“Can I go play out in the snow?”

“No, not today. It’s too cold.”

“It’s always too cold.” He grumbled.

“I’m sorry, Jack, I don’t control the weather. It should be better by next week.”

“Okay.” It was hard for a three year old to hide his dejection.

Abigail thought it would be all right to leave John for the time being, he was asleep and needed his rest anyway. She picked up Jack and carried him out of the bedroom. The boy was getting heavy. She walked them down the stairs to join the hustle and bustle of the morning routine.

She went through the dinning room to get to the kitchen. Strauss was at the table alone, eating slow and looking very annoyed. Abigail didn’t think it was possible for him to look more irritated than he already did, but everyday had been full of surprises since they’d moved here. “Morning, Herr Strauss.” She said as she passed

“Frau Abigail.” He said flatly.

Abigail decided it would be best to take breakfast elsewhere than deal with whatever _that_ was about. She got three plates of food from Pearson, at which point she had to put Jack down and have him carry his own. She decided they should go to their room, on the way passing by Mary-Beth with a basket of damp clean clothing. Giving polite smiles and nods to each other. Before she reached the stairs, she saw Lenny asleep by the fire. Abigail decided she’d make a point to check on him throughout the day as well.

Right as she went to go up the stairs, Ms. Grimshaw came around the corner. “Ms. Roberts, will you be joining us today?”

Abigail looked to her son, then to the old woman. “Joining you?”

“Yes, helping around the house. Or will you be tending to that fool Mr. Marston?”

“I’m taking food to him now. And I plan to keep an eye on him all day, Ms. Grimshaw. Will that be a problem?”

Grimshaw eyed her with what Abigail could only assume was annoyance. “Fine. Let’s hope he’s recovered enough tomorrow for you to lend your hand to the lot of us as well.”

“Yes, Ms. Grimshaw. I just want him to be comfortable today, the first day of recovery is usually the hardest.”

“As you were, Ms. Roberts.” The greying woman turned and rounded the corner from whence she came.

Abigail sighed heavily, then looked down to Jack. “Let’s go see if your Pa’s awake.”

“Okay, Mama.” He smiled up at her.

They walked up the stairs nice and slow, allowing Jack to be careful with his plate as he moved up the steps one at a time. Once at the top, they took a right down the hall, going to the second room on the left. Abigail adjusted the plates, holding two in one hand so she could open the door. When they entered, John was still lying in bed. “Are you awake yet, John?” She said softly.

There was a grumble. “I am. But I sure wish I weren’t.” He put a hand to his face, quickly pulling it away when he realized how much it stung. “God damn it.”

Abigail laughed lightly, putting her food on the room’s little desk. “Maybe this’ll teach you not to get into fights at the saloon anymore.”

John sat up and glared at her. “I didn’t start it.”

“I know, John. I’m just teasing. Christ.” She walked up to him and practically shoved the plate and a fork into his hands.

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Sorry, Abigail. Arthur kept blaming it on me, and it’s been getting on my nerves. And thank you for the food.”

“You’re welcome.” She paused. “Can’t blame Arthur for blaming you, though. You’re always getting into fights.”

John sighed with the fork in his mouth. “I know. I’m trying to be better. But when that bastard still gets mad at me, even when I’m putting in effort to stay out of those kinds of situations, I can’t help but be mad about it.”

“He’s just concerned, John. He wants to keep us safe. I know you two are not on good terms right now. But he cares about all of us, you included. You know he does.”

John didn’t answer. Just stared at his plate while he chewed. Abigail decided it was best to leave it there. She went and ate at the desk while Jack sat on the floor with his food. Maybe not the cleanest, but it would have to do for now. Strauss had looked ready to kill whoever sat near him next.

When they were all done, Abigail gathered up the plates and told Jack to follow her, she looked to John as she opened to door to leave. “I’ll be back in a little bit, I’m going to see if Hosea will give Jack his reading lesson for the day.”

John grunted to let her know he’d heard. Abigail rolled her eyes and shut the door behind her and Jack. She moved down the upstairs corridor till she reached Hosea’s room. Abigail knocked three times and waited. No response. She knocked again. Nothing. Hosea was probably preoccupied elsewhere then.

She then crossed the hall to Dutch’s study/meeting room, knocking there. After a small delay, Hosea answered. “Hello Abigail, is something the matter?” Then he looked down and saw the little boy. “And hello to you too, Jack.”

“Hi, Uncle Hosea.” Jack said softly.

Abigail smiled. “I thought you might be in here, secret meeting, then?”

Hosea looked back up. “Just a regular meeting. Going over some plans we have for the future of this here ranch.”

Behind Hosea, she heard Dutch speak from his desk. “Good morning, Miss Abigail.”

She peaked over Hosea. “Morning, Dutch.” She saw him give a polite tip of the hat.

“Is there something I can do for you two?” Hosea asked “Would you like to come in?”

Abigail returned her focus to the old man in front of her. “No, I was just wondering if you could give Jack his lesson early.”

“I’m afraid I’m a little caught up at the moment. I’ll be able to at the regular time today. Are you needing someone to watch him?”

“Well . . . yes. I need to keep an eye on John, but it wouldn’t be fair to Jack to keep him cooped up in that room all day too.”

“I have no doubt that someone downstairs would be able and willing to look after him. As busy as Grimshaw likes to keep everyone, there’s always a few people with not much to do.”

“I’m not letting Uncle watch him.” Abigail joked.

Hosea smiled. “No, that wouldn’t be wise.”

“I’ll leave you two to it then. Thank you, Hosea.”

“Of course.” Hosea crouched down to Jack. “And I’ll see you later for your reading lesson.” He ruffled the boy’s hair.

Jack giggled. “Yes, Uncle Hosea. I can’t wait!”

Abigail returned downstairs with her son, taking the plates back to the kitchen. She tried to think who to leave him with. Couldn’t be any of the ladies, unfortunately. They were all good with Jack, but Grimshaw would be keeping them extra busy with her absence. There was Molly, but she was, well, Molly. Strauss was not good with children. Swanson was nice, but it wasn’t very likely he was sober. Uncle would fall asleep and not actually watch Jack. Pearson might accidently add him to the evening stew. Lenny was even more injured than John. Any of the other former gunners wouldn’t be any good, except maybe Charles, but she hardly knew him.

Abigail was contemplating all of this when she walked right into something big and very solid.

The solid object turned and the familiar sonorous sound of Arthur’s voice was heard. “I’m sorry, Abigail. The second time this has happened today. This house gets pretty cramped with over twenty people living in it.”

Suddenly it hit her. “I’m fine. You are like a rock, though.”

“Thank you. I think.”

Abigail laughed, then looked to Jack. “Go put your coat and boots on, okay?”

“Okay!” Jack said, walking towards the door.

“Going out, then?” Arthur asked.

“No, I need to look after John. Could you keep an eye on Jack for me?”

Arthur peered down at her, one brow raised. “You pretty much just told him to get ready to go outside before you even asked me.”

“I did.”

“So you’ve trapped me into not disappointing him.”

“I have.”

“I can still say no.”

“But I know you won’t. Please, Arthur. His father doesn’t do much with him, and he especially won’t be able to for a few days. Not that he even will once he’s healed. And despite all that, the boy is worried about John and I want him to get his mind off it. Jack likes you, Arthur. Do something with him, _please_?”

Arthur sighed, then produced that wonderful chest rumbling chuckle of his. “I can’t disappoint that kid. So . . . I guess he’s going to help me with the rest of my chores for the day. You okay with him being in the barn around the horses and chickens?”

“That’s fine, if he’s with you, I know he’ll be safe.”

•••••

Arthur watched as Abigail returned to the stairs, then turned to the front door where Jack was putting his little boots and coat on. He crouched down next to the boy. “Hey Jack, do you wanna help me with the horses?”

Jack stood up triumphantly, having finally got his boots on. “Yes, Uncle Arthur!” He paused a second, then said very quietly. “Is mama okay with it?”

Arthur smiled and pat him on the head. “She sure is. I’ll be looking after you for awhile today.”

That seemed to make Jack very happy. He beamed up at Arthur. “Okay!”

Arthur stood back up. “Do you have your mittens? It’s cold out there.”

Jack pulled them out of his coat pockets and lifted them up towards Arthur to show him. “I have them!”

“Well, put them on then. We need to get to the barn.”

Jack did just that, they were a bit big, but that was good. They’d last him longer that way. Arthur put his own gloves on and pushed the front door open. It was overcast, but not windy. He didn’t experience the same struggle with the door like he had the previous day. Arthur moved outside, Jack followed. “Oh wow, it really is cold.” The little boy said.

“It sure is. We won’t be out in it for too long.” Arthur closed the door and stepped down from the porch. Once again, Jack followed, or at least he tried to. Arthur noticed his boots went fairly deep into the snow, so he lifted the boy up into his arms before he could jump from the porch. “The snow’s pretty deep, wouldn’t want you to get lost in it. You’re just so tiny.”

“Aww . . .” Jack pouted. “But I want to play in the snow.” His little face looked so mad.

“We can play in the snow after we do our chores, okay? If we got all cold in the snow before we went to do the chores, we’d end up pretty miserable when we’re trying to work.” Arthur explained, walking towards the barn.

“Okay.” Jack smiled again, his scowl left in an instance. The little boy naturally curled into the embrace, trying to stay out of the cold. He began to shiver when they were halfway to the barn. Arthur hugged Jack tighter to himself to keep the boy warmer.

Once in the barn, Arthur was meet by the familiar smell of horse musk, shit, and chickens. Also Bill was there. As Arthur proceeded into the barn he tripped over something on the floor that shouldn’t have been there. Uncle.

“Christ, Uncle. What the hell are you doing?” Arthur grumbled down at the overweight old man, holding the little boy close. “I coulda dropped Jack.”

“Oh hey, Arthur.” Uncle looked up from under his hat. “I must’ve fallen asleep doing my chores again.”

“He wasn’t doing shit.” Arthur glanced over as Bill shouted from across the barn. “He’s been there since I came in earlier.”

Arthur laughed, returning his gaze to Uncle. “Did you sleep in here last night?”

Uncle scratched his beard. “Maybe? I don’t remember last night.”

“I don’t know how we’ll ever make a rancher out of you.” Arthur sighed.

“I’m already a rancher, Arthur. I used to work on one years ago, you know.” Uncle said, offended.

“I don’t know how you expect me to believe that.” Arthur replied as he moved towards the tack room off to the side. He grabbed a couple different brushes and a hoof pick, putting them in bucket with a free hand, then carrying it out. Exiting the room, he turned his attention to Bill, moving towards the man. “You almost done cleaning the stalls?"

Bill glanced over his shoulder at Arthur, pitchfork in hand. “One more stall then I’m out of here.” He looked at Jack in Arthur’s arms. “Why you got Marston’s kid?”

“Abigail wants me to look after him while she helps John recover.” He explained.

Bill only looked at him suspiciously. “Okay, Morgan. Just keep him away from me. Wouldn’t want to step on him.”

Arthur ignored Bill’s look. If people wanted to be suspicious of the kindness he was showing his friend and her child, then so be it. He put the boy down. “This way, Jack. We’re going to brush all the horses and exercise them a little.”

“Okay!” Jack reached up for Arthur’s hand, succeeding in grabbing the man’s middle and pointer finger. Arthur walked slowly so Jack could keep up. He took him to the stall containing his own horse, Boadicea. A lovely amber champaign Missouri Fox Trotter. She was a calm and trusting animal, perfect for teaching children how to behave around horses.

“This here is my horse, Boadicea.”

“I know her! You said I can call her ‘Bo.’” Jack said.

“Yes, Bo’s much easier to say.” Arthur chuckled. “Especially with your vocabulary.” He unlatched the stall and they walked in. Arthur shut the door behind them. “You just sit back for a little bit, I’ll show you how to properly groom a horse. Normally, we’d lead her outside the stall and exercise her first, but we’re trying stay outta Bill’s way for now.”

Jack nodded enthusiastically, then went and sat on a hay bale.

Arthur walked up to Boadicea. She looked at him expectantly, ears forward. “Good morning, girl.” He murmured, patting her on the neck. “I forgot to bring you a treat today, I got a little sidetracked before I came out here. Forgive me.”

Perhaps he was imagining it, or she was just that smart, but she looked disappointed.

“I’ll bring two carrots next time, okay Bo?”

She bobbed her head and snorted.

“I’m gonna take that as forgiveness.” Arthur looked back over to Jack. “Always good to great the horse and let them get familiar with you before you get started, even if the horse knows you, spend some time saying hello.”

“Okay, Uncle Arthur.” Jack smiled.

Arthur pulled out the hoof pick and showed it to Jack, a small metal tool with a dull hooked end. “This is used to remove dirt and rocks from the horse’s hooves. Usually you would pick their hooves daily, before and after riding. Because our horses have been stalled most of winter, we don’t need to use it every time, but it’s been long enough since I last used it with Bo.”

He leaned against Boadicea’s right shoulder, wrapping his arm around her leg. By command, she shifted her weight and lifted her leg up, Arthur took hold of her hoof. “If you want to use the hoof pick most effectively, you need to teach the horse to do this.”

Jack eyed him curiously. “How?”

“That’s a lesson for another time. Watch closely.” Arthur took the pick and gently dug the dirt, manure, and a few pebbles out from the bottom of Boadicea’s front right hoof. Satisfied, he lowered her foot back to the ground and stood back up again. “You wanna try, Jack?”

Jack thought about it, looking up at the horse. “I’m too little.” He decided, sadly.

Arthur laughed. “I know, I was gonna hold her hoof for you.”

“Okay!” Jack hopped down from the hay. He walked up to Boadicea and patted her on the leg. “Good morning, girl.” He mimicked Arthur from earlier.

“Good, Jack.” Arthur said with a smile.

Bo lowered her head down to the little boy, lips touching his hair. She snorted and blew his locks wildly out of place. Jack giggled and reached up to carefully stroke her nose. “She’s so soft.” He said in awe.

“Yeah, Horse noses are very soft.” Arthur agreed, handing the pick over to Jack. He moved over to the other side of Bo, gesturing for Jack to follow. He did the same leaning action as before, lifting her leg up to expose the bottom of her hoof. “Alright, Jack. Just scrape out the dirt and rocks.”

Jack took the hoof pick with both hands and carefully dug it into dirt caked in Bo’s foot. He slowly but surely cleaned her hoof of debris. When it looked about done, Arthur praised him. “Well done, Jack. Now stand back so you don’t get stepped on.” Jack moved away and Arthur lowered Bo’s leg. “Now you go sit down while I get her back legs.”

“Yes, Uncle Arthur.” Jack gave him back the pick and returned to the hay bale.

Arthur did the same process with her back legs, cleaning her hooves. When he was done, he pulled out another grooming tool. A looped blade with dull metal teeth on one side, and flat on the other. “This one is a shedding blade on this side.” He pointed to the teeth. “And a sweat scrapper on the other.” He flipped it to show the flat edge. “The shedding blade helps remove any hair the horse may be shedding from the winter months. It’s also good for getting rid of any bigger clumps of dirt stuck to the horse. You gotta be real gentle with this one though, it can irritate her if you’re too aggressive.”

“That brush is funny looking.” Jack observed wisely.

Arthur nodded “That’s because you can unlatch it at the handle to make the whole thing flat, which helps when you’re using the sweat scraper. But we’re not doing that today.” Arthur explained as he began to brush Bo, starting at the shoulders and making his way to her rump, then the legs. Lots of bigger clumps of dirt were located closer to the hooves. He also made sure to get her neck, chest, and underbelly. He only brushed the left side of her neck, the right was still dusty. “Would you like to brush her, Jack?”

“Yes! I want to.” Jack rushed up to Arthur again, arms reaching up for the brush. Arthur handed it to him. As Jack went to brush Bo’s already clean leg, Arthur scooped him up. “But I was gonna brush her.” The little boy said, betrayed.

Arthur had to hold in his laugh. “You are, you can’t really reach her though, so I’m going to hold you while you get her neck.”

“Oh.” Said Jack. “Thank you!” He smiled.

Arthur exhaled lightly, followed by a small chuckle. He moved closer to Bo and easily hoisted Jack up, holding the little boy so he was sitting in the crook of his arm. Jack reached out with the brush and lightly drug it across Bo’s champaign blond coat. “Very nice, Jack. Always make sure you follow the grain of the horse’s fur, from the head to the tail. This goes for most any animal, including cats and dogs.” Arthur instructed.

Jack stopped for a moment, turning to look at Arthur. “Will we ever get a dog? Maybe some cats?”

Arthur smiled warmly. “Once we get the ranch up and running, a dog would be a good idea, help keep us and the animals safe. I miss having one around.” He said wistfully. “Some cats wouldn’t be a bad idea, either. Good for keeping rodent populations under control, which is likely going to be a problem given it gets cold up in these mountains, and the mice like how warm our buildings are.”

Jack got really excited at the notion. “What kind of dog? I want something big and fluffy. And the cats too, big and fluffy.”

“Big fluffy animals require a lot of grooming, think you’re up to it?” Arthur asked with faux seriousness. “That can be your job at the ranch.”

The little boy beamed. “I’d do anything if it means we get a dog.”

“If you can brush a dog or cat half as good as you are Boadicea, then it’ll be a job well done.”

Jack continued to smile and returned to grooming the horse. Arthur humored the little boy awhile longer before stepping back and gently setting him back down on the hay. “I’ll finish up with this brush, then we’ll move on to the last one.” He took back the shedding blade and quickly brushed down Bo’s neck. The final brush he pulled from the bucket was a rectangular wood block with a dense array of soft bristles. “This one is called a few things, such as a ‘body brush,’ ‘dandy brush,’ or a ‘soft brush.’ Which is what I call it.” He held it out to Jack so the boy could feel it.

“It’s soft, but not like Bo’s nose.” He observed, a sage expression on his little features.

“No, not at all.” Arthur nodded. He returned to Boadicea, brushing her from head to tail, following the same paths as he did with the shedding blade. “The soft brush is used to remove all the little dirt clumps and dust missed by the shedding blade or similar wide toothed brush. It also makes the coat really shine.” He explained. Then he leaned towards Jack and whispered loudly. “It’s also Bo’s favorite.”

“Oh, I can see why. The other two were metal, this one’s like the one mama uses.”

“It is kinda like a hairbrush, isn’t it?” Arthur agreed. He brushed her a while longer, but left the same space open for Jack again. Arthur went up to the little boy and leaned over him. “Do I even need to ask if you want to try this brush?”

Jack simply nodded and reached his arms out, Arthur picked him up. “We’re gonna try something different this time, you wanna sit on her?”

“Yes! I don’t get to ride the horses ever. Always the wagons.”

“Aw, I’ve seen you on horses before.”

“Not by myself.” He explained.

“Oh, I gotchu.” Arthur said as he lifted Jack onto Bo’s back.

Jack tried to adjust himself to get comfortable. “It’s weird without a saddle.” He said, surprised.

“Bareback isn’t great, no.” Arthur handed Jack the brush. “Horse backs can be boney.” He patted Boadicea’s neck. “As smooth a trot as Bo has, I’d hate to ride too far without a saddle. Now, Jack, just lean forward and brush her neck there, the side that isn’t covered by the mane.”

Jack did as he was told, he couldn’t reach very far, but his face with in full concentration.

Arthur unlatched the stall door and leaned out. “Bill! You in here still?”

No response from Bill. Although Uncle stirred in the corner. “He left.” Arthur heard the old man say.

“Good.” Arthur muttered. “If he was still cleaning, I can’t imagine how dirty that last stall was.” He opened the stall door fully. Boadicea didn’t have a halter or lead, but she was very well trained and wouldn’t leave until told to do so. “Come on Bo, this way.”

She clomped out slowly, Jack still brushing away despite swaying side to side with the horse’s movements. Boadicea stopped in front of Arthur, awaiting further commands. Arthur looked up at Jack. “If you feel unsteady up there, grab her mane, and don’t reach too far with the brush. Let me know when you want down.”

Jack stopped working momentarily. “I like it up here, Uncle Arthur. I don’t want down at all.”

“Okay then, Jack. We’re gonna walk around the barn a few laps.”

“Can we go outside?” The little boy asked, voice gone all eager.

“If it weren’t so cold I’d let her out. It’ll be easier and safer to get the horses exercise in the future when we have a corral and a fenced in pasture.”

“When’s that gonna be?” asked Jack.

“We’re gonna work on it in the spring.” Arthur pat Bo on the side. “Now come on, let’s get moving. We gotta do this with all twenty something horses.”

Arthur walked Boadicea and Jack in a rectangular path, following the edges of the barn’s aisle and going around the wagon kept in the middle. The hens watched them warily, keeping their distance and clucking away, pecking at the food brought in earlier by someone else doing their chores. As he walked her, Arthur ran his fingers through Bo’s mane, untangling her red hair. Her tail was kept in a braid, so it couldn’t be combed at the moment. Not that it needed to be quite so much.

By the second lap, Jack had stopped using the brush, seeming to enjoy the easy ride. Arthur took the brush back and instructed him to hold her mane. He brought Bo to a trot, jogging along side her. Jack was giggling and laughing the whole time as he bounced with the horse’s rhythmic movements. After one trotted lap, Arthur returned them to the ambling walk from before. “You held on pretty good. Did you enjoy the trot, Jack?”

“Yes! That was fun, you’re right about her being boney. Can we do that again?” He laughed.

Arthur smiled, but shook his head. “Sorry, just one go around. You’re still new to riding a horse, you’d get sore real quick. Especially without a saddle.”

“Aww . . . okay.” Jack sighed.

“We’ll go around one more time, but then we gotta move on to the rest of the horses.”

Jack nodded again. They completed their final lap, returning Boadicea to her stall. Arthur grabbed Jack under the armpits and lifted him off the horse. He shifted the boy to one arm, Jack wrapping his arms around the man’s neck. Arthur gave Bo a final pat with his freed hand. “Thank you for your good behavior, girl. I can always count on you.”

She nickered softly as a reply, swishing her tail a couple times.

Arthur exited the stall and latched it close. “Come on, Jack. Next horse is Maggie, Lenny’s little mustang.”

The whole process of bringing out the individual horses, exercising them, grooming them, rinse and repeat took upwards of three hours. There were over twenty horses, so it was a time consuming process. But Arthur made sure he gave each horse the same amount of attention, although he did spend a little extra time with his own horse and the two shires that pulled the wagon the previous day.

Somehow, Jack never seemed to lose interest. He closely observed what Arthur was doing and happily brushed the horses when offered. Though with some of the more bad tempered steads, Arthur ordered the boy to keep a safe distance. This was particularly the case with The Count. An ornery bastard. Arthur never thought the ‘albino’ arabian had been worth the trouble just because he was rare. But he was Dutch’s horse, so Arthur couldn’t say much about the subject.

When the final horse had been groomed and exercised, Arthur returned the brushes to the tack room. Jack shadowed him the whole time, so Arthur greatly reduced his naturally long stride, allowing the boy’s short little legs to keep up. Just before they reached the door to leave, he crouched down next to Jack and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s still cold out, but we can play in the snow for a little bit.”

Jack’s eyes lit up, he launched at Arthur and hugged him around the neck. “Thank you, Uncle Arthur!” He exclaimed.

Arthur patted him on the back, then picked him up and stood. “Not too long, we don’t want you getting sick. Your mama would kill me.”

“That’s okay. I haven’t got to play in the snow yet.”

Arthur shooed a couple chickens away from the door before he opened it, then took a quick glance at Uncle lying exactly where he’d been when they came in. The old man was still breathing. Arthur opened the door, and the cool air immediately seeped in. The barn had been chilly but comfortable. Outside it was frigid.

Arthur checked his pocket watch as he walked out. It was just after noon, and he was done with everything he needed to do for the day. There was a reason he got up early; he had the rest of the day to lie around and nobody could fault him for it.

Though Grimshaw and Dutch would probably tell him to be a man of action and go do something. However, despite what Miss Grimshaw and Dutch were trying to portray, there really wasn’t much to be done as things were. They were all surviving and surprisingly happy. Splitting the load of work evenly amongst themselves meant no single person carried a larger burden then anyone else. That didn’t mean there weren’t procrastinators, but in general everyone did their job and nobody was overworked. The real hard work was yet to come.

As Arthur kicked through the snow, he searched for a shallow area to set Jack down in. The little boy was only about three feet tall, and the snow could reach up to his shoulders or higher in some of the deeper parts. Jack was giddy with excitement the whole time. He was so young, last winter he was still a toddler and they hadn’t been in a part of the country that had snow. This year was the boy’s first real experience with the stuff. “What do you want to do with the snow, Jack?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know. What _can_ you do with it?” Jack looked around at the expanse of white in awe.

“Hmm . . . when I was a real young kid, I can remember havin’ a snowball fight in freshly fallen snow with a group of children in the nearby town. I was waitin’ for my Ma to finish in the store.”

“Snowball fight?”

Arthur finally found a nice shallow area and lowered Jack down, the boy was up to his mid-thighs in snow, he shivered a bit but didn’t complain. Arthur crouched down in front of him. “Yeah, you take snow like this,” he scooped up a clump of snow, “and you press and roll it into a ball.” Arthur did as he described and compressed the snow in his hands into a nice round snowball. “You try.”

“Okay!” Jack had been focusing intently on everything Arthur had done. He attempted to mimic, picking up snow and smashing it in his mittens into a kinda round tiny little ball. “I did it!” He said, holding it out. Then he looked at what Arthur had made. “It’s not as big as yours.” The kid seemed disappointed.

“That’s cause I got big hands. You’re so little.”

“How long till I’m not little? Will I ever get as big as you?”

“Let’s hope not, don’t want you to turn out like me.” Arthur chuckled. “You’ll probably be scrawny like yer Pa.”

“Scrawny?” Jack said the word slowly, thinking it over.

“Means skinny, thin.”

“Oh! Pa _is_ scrawny then.” Jack nodded.

Arthur about burst out laughing. He didn’t actually intend to get John’s own son to say something like that.

“What do we do with the snowballs?” Jack asked.

“You throw them at each other.” Arthur lightly tossed his at Jack’s leg, making sure he wouldn’t hit him anywhere that could hurt.

“Hey!” Jack’s eyes gone wide, shocked.

“That’s the game, Jack. Throw yours at me.”

Unlike Arthur, Jack put oomph into his toss. He hurled it at the man’s chest, hitting him right in the center. Despite the effort, Arthur didn’t feel it through his thick wool coat. But he wasn’t going to let the boy know that. “Oh, you got me good!” Arthur faked a fall and collapsed to his side, clutching his heart. His hat fell off and the snow was cold on his face, but Jack’s look of concern made it worth it.

The little boy rushed through the snow. “Uncle Arthur, are you okay?”

No response.

“Uncle Arthur?” He sounded worried now. Arthur could feel Jack’s tiny hands on his arm as the boy started shaking him, a heavy frown on his little face. “Uncle Arthur?”

Just before Jack lost all hope. Arthur started laughing and sat up. “Sorry Jack, that was a little mean.”

At first Jack didn’t respond outside of hugging Arthur. “You scared me.” He finally said.

Arthur picked him up and hugged him to himself. “Alright, I won’t do that again.” He gave the boy a few pats before setting him back down. Arthur grabbed his hat and dusted it off before putting it on. Then he stood to his full height and brushed the snow from his pants and coat. “Snowball fights aren’t so fun without forts and teams. But we can make a snowman.”

“Snow . . . man?” Jack looked up at him curiously.

Arthur nodded. “You roll up three balls of snow and stack them. Then you use sticks for the arms and coal or rocks for the face and buttons. Sometimes a carrot nose.”

“That sounds funny. How do you do that?”

“You start with a snowball, then you roll it in the snow ‘till you have a really big snowball.”

Jack looked at him confused, like his Uncle Arthur was a crazy man.

Arthur smiled. “I’ll show you.” He crouched down again and grabbed a handful of snow, making another snowball, then he dropped it onto the ground, rolling it through the snow. It gradually gained mass and density. Jack looked in awe as the ball slowly grew in size.

“How does it do that?” Jack asked, his voice full of wonderment.

“I don’t rightly know, Jack. Snow just sticks to itself when it’s dense enough. It’s also easier when it’s a bit wet.” Arthur was satisfied with the size of what would be the base of the snowman when it was just a bit shorter than Jack. “I’ll make the middle, you can make the head.” He told the boy. “Just make a snowball and roll it around.”

Jack nodded and got to work. Arthur did the same. Jack struggled at first, but eventually he managed to get the start of a lopsided snow-boulder. Arthur had long since finished with the middle by the time Jack had gotten the hang of it. While he waited for Jack to finish, Arthur waded through the snow towards what was supposedly an apple tree about thirty feet from the barn. He dug through the snow at the bottom, finding a few decent sticks. When he returned, Jack was just about done. He rolled his snowball up to Arthur. “What do we do next?”

“I’ll stack them now.” Arthur lifted up the middle ball and placed it on top of the larger base. Then he picked up the ‘head’ Jack had made. Not so much a snowball as it was a snow-lump. It was placed on the very top. The snowman ended up being quite a bit shorter than Arthur, but still much taller than Jack. “Let’s put the sticks in.” Arthur handed him one. “You just put them on either side of the middle section so they look like arms.” He shoved his stick in so it would point up slightly.

Jack attempted to follow suit, reaching as high as he could, he managed to get the stick in, but it was pointing down.

Arthur looked at the snowman with uneven arms. “I guess he’s dancing or something.” He chuckled to himself.

“Where do we get rocks?” Jack asked.

“I’m sure there’s some under all this snow.” Arthur dug around for awhile, managing to find a few in the shallow snow. Jack picked up two himself. Arthur took the two from Jack and made them the eyes. Then he took his and made a smile and nose. They didn’t have enough for buttons.

“He looks happy.” The boy said.

Arthur smiled, stepping back from his work. “Yes he does. Now there’s one last thing to do.” Arthur pat Jack on the head. “Stay here and keep Mr. Snowman company, I’ll be right back.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, Uncle Arthur.”

Arthur walked to the barn, opening the door. He peaked in and saw what he needed. Uncle was still passed out. Arthur silently approached him and carefully removed the old man’s hat and scarf. Then just as quietly left, shutting the barn door behind him. Arthur waded back through the snow to Jack. Catching the little boy putting a handful of snow into his mouth. “Don’t eat the snow, Jack.” He said flatly.

Jack’s head bolted up, wide eyed and startled. He pulled his hand back and spat it out. “It doesn’t taste like anything. It’s just cold.”

“That’s because snow is just frozen water.” Arthur explained.

“It _is_?” Jack said, astonished.

Arthur smiled down at him. “Yes, Jack. It is.”

The boy finally noticed the items in Arthur’s hands and pointed at them. “What do we do with those?”

“They’re for the snowman.”

“Aren’t those Uncle’s?”

“They used to be. Now they belong to the snowman.” Arthur wrapped the scarf around the snowman’s ‘neck’ and placed the hat on its head. He looked down at Jack. “Don’t he look nice and dressed up?”

“No, he looks like Uncle.”

Arthur turned back to the snowman. “Shit . . . he really does. ‘Specially with that lopsided head.” He had a sudden realization. “He’s not dancing, he’s drunk.” Arthur started laughing to himself. Jack didn’t get it, but the little boy laughed too. “I should get him a whiskey bottle.” Arthur said after his laugh died down. “But now it’s time to go back inside.”

“Do we have to?” Jack sighed.

“Yes, we don’t want you to get sick.”

“But I’m not cold.” As the boy said it, he shivered involuntarily, betraying himself in the process.

“You are most definitely cold. We’re going inside. Come on, let’s go.”

“Fine, but I want to walk there myself.” Jack said, defiant. He began to move towards the house, then immediately got caught in deep snow. “Umm . . . Uncle Arthur?” The little boy looked over his shoulder at the man, a crestfallen expression visible on his face.

“Hold on, Jack.” Arthur shook his head and plucked him up from the snow. “Can I carry you inside? Or do you want me to put you down when we get to the path?”

Jack seemed to realize at last just how cold and tired he’d gotten, he nuzzled himself into Arthur’s coat. “Carry me please.”

“Gladly. You hardly weigh a thing.” Arthur hugged the boy close and trudged through the deep snow towards the house. When they entered, Arthur put the boy down and helped him remove his coat and boots. Arthur took his own coat and boots off as well. Passing by his unopened package from yesterday, still by the front door. He carried the coats over to the fire and laid the long blue shotgun coat over the back of an unused chair, throwing Jack’s over the top. Then he set both pairs of boots in front of the fire.

Lenny was still sat in the same chair, but now he was awake and reading. “You doing okay there, Lenny?” Arthur asked.

He gave Arthur a smile and a nod. “Better, but still not good. Abigail’s been keeping an eye on me.”

“That’s very kind of her.”

“Yes, well, she’s already dealing with John’s injuries, what’s another beaten up fool?”

“You’re no fool, Lenny. Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Lenny looked down and away. “I feel bad that John had to take the blame for what happened yesterday. I was as much a part of it as him and-”

“Stop, kid. I only gave Marston so much more trouble because he should know better. You don’t need to feel bad. Neither of you are to blame. I know it. Except for wanting to go into the saloon in the first place.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” Lenny said sincerely.

Arthur nodded, then turned and threw a log into the fireplace. The room returned to the content quiet it had before, other than the crackling fireplace and sounds of people in other parts of the house. Jack crouched in front of the fire and put his hands out. Arthur grabbed a blanket from the nearby couch and sat down in the rocking chair by the fire, wrapping the knitted blanket around himself to warm up.

Jack turned to Arthur and put his arms up, implying that he wanted to join him. Arthur complied, lifting the boy from under the arms and setting him on his lap. Jack immediately curled up, nestling into Arthur’s broad chest and holding a portion of his shirt in his tiny fist. Arthur threw part of the blanket over Jack and put an arm over his little body. The boy fell asleep almost instantly. Arthur could feel himself falling off as well. With all his tasks done for the day, it seemed an appropriate time for a nap.

•••••

When Abigail came downstairs to check on Lenny around three o’clock, she was meet with a wonderfully unexpected surprise. Big bad ‘former’ outlaw Arthur Morgan sleeping in a rocking chair with her tiny son curled up in his arms. Abigail couldn’t bring herself to wake them. She looked at Lenny, he only shook his head and grinned widely. The kid couldn’t believe it either.

•••••

Arthur had a hard time falling asleep that night, he’d napped much longer than intended. He stayed up late drawing under the lamplight. Two full page detailed sketches of Jack riding Boadicea, the other of Jack with Uncle’s snowman twin.

_Somehow ended up spending the day with Jack. With Abigail watching after John, she needed someone to watch her boy. That someone was me._

_The kid loves animals. He wants a dog, and I would be lying if I said I didn’t want one too. Bo was real good to him, I ought to take her out for a good run when the weather gets better. Been cooped up so much this winter, she deserves it. Pearson’s been bugging us for fresh meat, should probably go hunting in a few days, a good excuse to get Bo some exercise._

_Jack’s a good kid. Three years old and already real eager to learn and listen. He’s like a less grumpy version of his father at twelve. But I hope he don’t end up like his father. Or me, for that matter. Hope this place will allow Jack to grow up happy and live a life that never leads to him killing another human being. He deserves better than what we got._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was in the mood for family fluff when I wrote this chapter apparently. And that was back in January. Also I used to ride horses as a kid and teenager. So I have unnecessary knowledge about them I want to spew out.
> 
> And thank you for reading! I still can't believe people like what I've written, I have zero confidence it seems!


	3. Bear with Me (Thursday, March 10, 1898)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna post this sooner today, but I got side-tracked and didn't get my editing done in a timely manner.

Arthur sat at the bottom of the stairwell, unopened package lying across his lap. It had remained by the front door where he’d left it two days prior. He’d been too preoccupied and had forgotten about it for a couple days. But now, at last, he’d get to open it.

Arthur was a little surprised no one had beaten him to it. There was a lack of privacy and personal space in a house containing over a dozen people. But the gang respected him, or perhaps feared him, enough that they left his things alone.

That didn’t stop people from being curious, however. Lenny in particular had wondered ever since he saw Arthur walk out of the post office with it. Arthur could see him eyeballing the long box from the parlor where he was pretending to read while taking the recovery rest he needed to heal. Arthur shook his head. “Stop staring and get over here if you’re so intrigued, Lenny.”

Lenny looked a bit shocked, but was eager to find out, so he shut his book and came over. “You keep catching me, Arthur. First the candy and money, now my staring.”

“A big part of my job is to be aware, Mr. Summers.” Arthur chided.

“Huh, well that makes sense.”

“I’ll stop lecturing you now and you can help me get this open.”

Arthur instructed Lenny to hold the box upright while he took the paper off. The wooden crate revealed underneath was placed on the floor long ways. Arthur pulled out his hunting knife and slid it under top panel of the crate, prying up until the nails were lose in that section, then he moved to the middle, prying up again, then to the far left, repeating the action. With the lid loose, Arthur tugged it off and set it aside. The box was filled with hay, which acted as a packing material. After a little bit of digging, he pulled out a long rifle with a long scope.

“Oh, that is a nice looking gun.” Lenny whistled.

Arthur gave it a quick inspection. “I would agree. It’ll do the job nicely, just what I needed.”

“Some kind of rifle?” The young man asked.

“Rolling Block Rifle. It’s got good power and range.”

“And what did you need it for?”

“Saw a real big bear in the far woods a month or so back, not long after we got here. Thought it was real odd for her to not be hibernating” Arthur explained. “Figured I’d need something powerful to deal with the likes of her.”

“That _is_ odd.” Lenny muttered, crossing his arms and looking down. His head suddenly snapped back up, remembering something. “Wait, is it the same one Sean was yammering on about? I thought he was just full of shit.”

Before Arthur could answer, the sound of footsteps descending the stairs made the two of them look up. Hosea was coming down. “I see you got the rifle you ordered, Arthur. It’s about time we took care of that beast.”

“Sure is, can’t be ranchers with bears around to kill your animals.”

“Then let’s get going.” Hosea moved past Arthur and Lenny towards the door.

Arthur was dumbstruck. “Right now?”

“Yes, right now. Why waste time? Weather isn’t too bad, not like it was Monday. So let’s go.”

“Hold on.” Said Lenny. “I’ve been trying to think about it, but what kind of bear isn’t hibernating right now? It’s too cold I thought.”

“That was part of what made me worried, actually.” Said Arthur. “That isn’t normal, could be a dangerous animal.”

Hosea stood impatiently by the door. “It isn’t unheard of for a bear to not hibernate the usual length of time. But she’s likely hungry, and our barn is full of fresh meat that can’t run and would be easy to get to. So let’s get going.”

Arthur looked at Hosea, impatient with the old man’s impatience. “Would you relax, it’s been a month and she hasn’t come down here yet. Another five minutes isn’t going to lead to the slaughter of our horses and hens.”

Hosea gave him a cheeky grin. But waited.

“Umm . . . can I come?” Lenny asked.

“Absolutely not.” Arthur replied. “You need to rest and heal, and hunting a bear is not restful or healing.”

“Damn it. Wish you wasn’t right, but you are.” Lenny sighed. “I’ll just go back to reading.”

“It’s been two days and you already feel cooped up? You’ll be okay soon enough.” Arthur gave him a pat on the shoulder.

Lenny nodded and returned to the chair by the fireplace where his opened book was waiting for him.

Arthur walked to Hosea. “We need provisions if we’re going hunting.” Then he looked Hosea up and down. “And you need warmer clothes, old man.”

Hosea laughed. “Fine, if it means we leave in the next fifteen minutes, I’ll go get my warmest coat.” He headed for the stairs. “That means you need to get the supplies.”

Arthur started towards the kitchen. “Already on it.”

After harassing Pearson for food, a process that was more tedious than it should have been. Arthur exited through the front door, heading once more through the manmade snow trench to the barn. Hosea had been right. The weather was nice today, still chilly, but the lack of wind and clouds made everything pleasant. Though the glare from the sun on the snow made it difficult to do much more than squint while outside.

Once inside the barn, he was meet by Boadicea and Silver Dollar patiently waiting for their tack. He gave his horse a couple pats, “good to see you, girl.” Boadicea flicked her braided tail and performed a few quick head bobs.

Hosea appeared from behind the wagon, carrying Silver Dollar’s saddle from the tack room in the corner. Arthur immediately walked up to him, taking the saddle from the older man. “You don’t have to do that, Arthur.” Hosea protested.

“No, but I’m going to. Now put the saddle blanket on Silver Dollar so I can get this on him.”

Hosea complied, a little grumpy, but with his progressing age and not great health, he didn’t really have room to complain. “I already brushed them, so don’t worry about that.”

“Thank you, Bo looks nice. Though I’m thinking it’s about time I redid her braid.” Arthur said, placing the saddle over the blanket. He left the cinching to Hosea as he went and retrieved his own saddle and blanket from the tack room.

Boadicea watched him as he returned, her ears forward and focused. She shuffled in place a bit. The Missouri fox trotter was full of anticipation, excited to go outside for the first time in over a week. Arthur put her saddle on, the blanket already underneath as he placed it. Next he reached underneath Bo’s chest to grab the front cinch, bringing the strap through it and pulling the cinch nice and tight, then looping the strap through the d-ring, securing it. From there he reached under her belly and took hold of the flank cinch, buckling it to flank billet.

Once done with the saddle, Arthur took the bridle and slipped the nosepiece over her muzzle, Bo opening her mouth and taking the bit. He then pulled her ears between the headpiece and browband, lastly fastening the throatlatch’s buckle. Arthur gave the saddle a few good shakes and tugs, making sure it was on securely enough. Satisfied, he opened his saddlebags and loaded in a few provisions that he didn’t want to keep in his satchel, then gave the rest to Hosea.

Arthur rummaged through the storage room opposite the tack room until he found a tent bundle, which he then carried out and loaded onto Boadicea’s back, strapping it place. Arthur took her reins and lead her to the barn doors, opening one and exiting.

Hosea mounted up and followed behind. Once he and Silver Dollar were outside, Arthur shut the barn door, handing Bo’s reins to Hosea so he could go back inside and latch the door closed. Returning to his horse, Arthur climbed into the saddle. “You ready to go, Hosea?”

“Me? I should be asking you that. So reluctant to go hunting.” Hosea teased.

“I wasn’t reluctant, you just came out of nowhere with it. Usually you’re all about careful planning.”

“Well, sometimes it’s okay to be spontaneous. Besides, it’s time I got out for awhile. Haven’t got to do much since we arrived.”

“Okay, old man. Hope you brought your good guns. We are definitely going to need ‘em.”

“Of course, don’t take me for a fool.” He patted the strap attached to the Lancaster repeater strung across his back.

From there the two of them took off at a trot, Arthur tipped his hat to the snowman as he passed it. They headed east behind the farmhouse and out towards the depths of the property. Arthur had done a fair amount of exploring around the acreage, but he hadn’t come close to covering all of it yet. The cold and windy weather made it difficult to find the motivation, not to mention it made it difficult to find the trails.

The two had plenty to discuss as they made it to the edge of the woods far beyond the farmhouse.

“Do you have any idea what this bear is doing out of hibernation so early?” Arthur asked.

“Not exactly. Simplest answer is that it’s some kind of fluke. Sometimes animals have weird quirks and don’t act ‘naturally’ or normal.”

“I know that, just look at John.” Arthur joked.

“You really ought to let up on him, Arthur.” Hosea gave him a serious look.

“Yeah? Well he really ought to have not abandoned us for a year.” Arthur replied, grumpy. “A _year_.”

“He apologized. Many times. I know he feels bad for what he did.”

“You didn’t bring me out here just to have this talk again, did you?”

Hosea sighed. “No, I wanted to go hunting with you, Arthur. It’s been a long while since we’ve gotten to do anything, just the two of us.”

“So is that why you didn’t invite Charles?”

“If we had brought him along, it would have hardly been a hunt, he would have looked at one broken stick and said ‘over there.’ And there she’d be.”

Arthur laughed. “You’re likely right. That feller is talented, and a hard worker. Lucky we picked him up when we did.”

“Yes, a man like him will be useful when this place is finally turned into a proper ranch.”

“I’m pretty sure Charles and Javier left earlier this morning to go hunting themselves, actually. Pearson’s been bugging us for fresh meat.”

“Well, perhaps we’ll see them while we’re out. Maybe we will get Charles’ help with tracking this beast after all.”

As the two of them made it deeper into the woods, the trails became harder to follow. Arthur was more familiar with the land than Hosea, so he had taken the lead. Eventually, after several wrong turns and a lot of backtracking, they made it to the clearing where they’d seen the bear a month back. “This is definitely the spot, Hosea.” Arthur said, looking around.

“Yes, I recognize the rocks around here. Though maybe we should have brought Sean just to be sure.”

“I know you’re not serious about that. It was a miracle the crazy bastard didn’t get us all mauled that day. He wanted to chase after the bear in a blizzard.”

“He’s foolish, yes. But his heart was in the right place.”

“Sometimes your heart being right means the rest of you dies.”

“My god, Arthur.” Hosea’s voice turned teasing. “You’re so broody and profound.”

“You know what I meant.” Arthur grumbled.

Hosea laughed as he spurred his horse forward, headed towards the area they’d seen the bear run off. They had been in a small valley, whereas the bear had been watching them from a rocky ridge. “It fled beyond these rocks here.” Hosea pointed the direction she had gone. “And then ran this way down the ridge. It may be a bit of a wild goose chase, but this is obviously our best bet for the initial start.”

“Should we try baiting her?” Asked Arthur.

“If we don’t have any luck finding fresh evidence of her, then there’s no point. She could have moved on or gone back to sleep. We need to be sure she’s still around if we’re going to bait.”

“Makes sense, you lead the way.”

Hosea took off at a fast walk, weaving down the hillside around boulders and trees. When the terrain cleared up, he speed up to a trot. Arthur followed close behind the whole time, binoculars in hand. Occasionally looking out into the distance, hoping to see of glimpse of her, or perhaps spot Charles and Javier. At one point, they heard gunshots echoing around the rocks and hills. The other two hunters must have had some luck.

The sun was directly overhead now, they’d been out for several hours. Hosea suddenly pulled back on the reins, Arthur did the same. “What is it?” He asked the older man.

“Think I found something.” Hosea dismounted, motioning for Arthur to do the same.

Hosea shuffled through the snow, there were two very noticeable trails from different directions leading to a significant dip in the plane of white. When they got close enough, Arthur could see the white stained with blood. “Ah yes.” Said Hosea, kneeling down. “Looks like we’ve found a kill. A doe, less than a day old probably. The wind hasn’t been bad since Monday, and the fact that the doe hasn’t been covered proves that it was killed some time after all that wind.”

“Baiting’s not gonna work so good on an animal that’s not even hungry.” Arthur commented.

“Oh, she’ll be hungry alright. This was just a snack for a creature her size.”

“Can’t wait to meet her face to face.” Arthur joked.

“Let’s hope you don’t get that close. Can’t imagine you’d survive that encounter.” Hosea stood and returned to Silver Dollar.

Arthur mounted Bo once more. “There are quite a few tracks around that carcass, think you can figure out where she went?” He asked.

“Maybe, but I want you to try.” Hosea replied

“Really? Why?”

“You need to be able to do this kind of thing too, Arthur.”

“I’m not fourteen anymore, Hosea. I know how to track.”

“You do? Show me then. Prove it.” Hosea smiled at him.

“Hosea Mathews, you really know how to corner me, don’t you? Fine. I’ll take the lead. Keep a look out for Charles or Javier while I’m focused on the ground, will ya?”

“Of course. Now what are you waiting for? Find the trail and Let’s get going.” 

It was easy enough to pick up the tracks. Arthur could see them on either side of the doe, the trick was figuring out which direction she had come from, and which way she had left. By looking at the way the deep snow was turned up and distributed around the tracks, Arthur figured she had chased the doe from up the hill and after making her kill and eating, she had continued downhill. Hosea thought his reasoning was fine, and the two of them were off again. Now with a solid lead.

The deep snow made following the tracks easy, even once they made it into another heavily wooded area, the trenches left by the bear were obvious. But Arthur’s luck was cut short by a large creek. The trail ran cold on the other side. “Well shit.” Grumbled Arthur.

“Shit indeed.” Said Hosea. “She came this way for sure, but where did she go from here?”

“Probably ran up or down the creek a ways. The snow is deep enough on either side that we’d see her trail if she’d just crossed. Bet we need to follow the water for awhile, we’ll see her tracks again eventually.”

“Good Arthur, that’s what I was thinking. I reckon we should split up, meet back here in an hour or so.”

“You sure that’s a good idea, Hosea? It’s a big bear, and you’re a little old man.”

“I will be just fine, Arthur. I should be more worried about you and your youthful recklessness.”

“I ain’t young no more, Hosea.” Arthur laughed.

“Keep telling yourself that, son.” Hosea smiled, spurring Silver Dollar forward. “I’ll head downstream, you go up.”

Arthur turned Boadicea upstream. “See you in an hour, and if I don’t, I’ll come looking for your body.”

“Don’t be so morbid, Arthur.” Hosea’s voice came from a distance.

Arthur laughed to himself, then he gave Bo a light kick to get moving. “Let’s go girl. Got a bear to find.”

•••••

Hosea had been traveling next to the wide stream for twenty minutes; he had remained at a slow trot so he could keep an eye out on either side for any sign of the bear. He was having no luck, it was safe to assume the bear had gone the other way. It was highly unlikely she’d have continued to run through the water for so long. “Damn it.” Hosea said to himself. “Arthur’s gonna find her.”

He continued forward regardless, there was still a chance, no matter how small, that the bear would have come this way. He still had forty minutes before he was to meet back up with Arthur. Hosea was deep in concentration when he saw a familiar horse around a rocky bend in the creek. Taima, the grey spotted Appaloosa. As Hosea looked for her owner, his owner found him instead. “Hosea, what are you doing out here?”

Looking up, Hosea saw Charles on the ridge above him, Javier close by. He gave the two of them a smile. “Hunting, Mr. Smith.”

“By yourself?” Charles wasn’t able to hide his surprise.

“No, not by myself. Arthur’s with me.”

Javier looked around quickly. “I don’t see him.”

“We split up, the trail ran cold at the creek, he went upstream, I went down.”

Javier gestured for Hosea to come closer. “How about you come up here and join us, we could use your help with these deer we got.”

“I would be glad to.” Hosea lead Silver Dollar around the ridge, then up the slope to join the younger men. Three deer were laid out in the snow, thin, but enough meat to help increase the lifespan of the fresh provisions from town. One of them still had an arrow in its neck. “You used a bow.” Hosea said, dismounting and thinking back to the gunshots heard earlier.

Charles nodded. “Yes, I was showing Javier how to use one. I managed to get two, he got the other.”

“I’m surprised I even hit it actually.” Javier laughed. “So different from a gun.”

“You did fine for a first try, Javier.” Charles looked to Hosea, the older man had concern written all over his face. “Are you okay there, Hosea?”

“Oh, we heard gunshots earlier and assumed it was you two.”

Charles and Javier glanced at each other. “No.” Said Charles. “We only used arrows today.”

“We heard the shots too.” Javier added. “Thought it must have come from the farmhouse. Most likely a coyote or something trying to get to the chickens again.”

“Yes, that would make sense.” Hosea muttered. “I put three dollars on it being Karen who shot.” He said, more jovial.

“I say Mac.” Charles put in his bet.

“I’m thinking Pearson. Probably throw it in the stew too.” Javier laughed.

“Know that I’m going to hold you boys to your bets.” Hosea smiled.

“I don’t doubt that for a second.” Said Charles. “So what are you tracking? Maybe I could help.”

“A bear, one of the biggest I’ve ever seen.”

“A _bear_?” Charles’ surprise was surfacing again. “It’s far too early for a bear to be out of hibernation.”

Hosea laughed. “We already told you about her, first saw her a month ago.”

“That isn’t normal.” Charles said with concern. “I didn’t take you seriously when the three of you came back in from that blizzard, saying you saw a bear.”

“I can understand you not believing Sean, that boy blows things out of proportion constantly. But if it’s me or Arthur, you would do well to believe us.”

“I will keep that in mind for the future, Mr. Mathews.” Charles nodded sincerely 

“Enough about that.” Said Hosea, kneeling down. “How can I assist you with these deer.”

“Well.” Began Javier. “We were trying to figure out how we were going to carry back the third one, but now that you’re here, you can take it.”

Hosea held his chin with a finger and his thumb, nodding. “Yes, that’s certainly better than trying to skin it out here and putting the meat in your saddle bags.”

“Which is what we were about to do.” Javier admitted.

“Let’s hope Arthur’s horse can handle the bear when we find it.” Hosea laughed.

Charles and Javier called their horses over, Taima and Boaz had been drinking water from the creek. The two loyal mounts found their way over to their respective riders. Charles and Javier each took a deer and hauled them onto the rumps of their horses, securing them to the saddles with rope. Hosea, reluctant to admit it, required assistance to get his deer onto the back of Silver Dollar. Charles helped without saying a word.

Once the deer were safely fastened in place, the three mounted up. “I told Arthur I would meet him an hour after we split up, that was about thirty minutes ago.” Hosea explained, checking his pocket watch. “You two are welcome to join us, or you can return to the farmhouse.”

“I’d like to see this big bear of yours.” Said Javier.

Charles nodded. “I agree, I think I could help you find her.” 

“That’s good news, a beast like her could need a lot of fire power to take down. We have thirty minutes to kill before I need to meet Arthur. So should we go for a slow walk? Take in the scenery?”

“Sounds good to me.” Said Charles.

“Yes, haven’t gotten much of chance to explore this place.” Javier agreed.

“Let’s get going then.” Hosea took the lead, a leisurely walk back to the meeting point. The two younger men close behind.

•••••

Ten minutes into his ride upstream, and Arthur had picked up the trail again. In the end she had crossed onto the eastern side, she’d come from the west. To some extent, Arthur hoped to find her before he’d have to turn around. Show Hosea that he could hunt and track without help. But then again, spending time with the old man was always nice. It would be a good memory to share, the time they found a gigantic and bizarre non-hibernating bear in early March.

These thoughts were interrupted when the trail lead up a slope to the entrance of a cave. “This must be her den, then.” Arthur muttered to himself.

Before continuing towards it, Arthur lead Boadicea the short ways back to the creek. “Take a rest and get a drink, I’ll be back soon.” He dismounted and gave her a couple pats. “Wouldn’t want the bear ta getcha.” Bo grunted a content reply.

Arthur followed the tracks his horse made back towards the cave. Taking his time going up the slope, hoping to not stumble and crack his head on the ice and rock hidden beneath the sheet of white. When he reached the mouth of the cave, the first thing he noticed was that the bear’s tracks went past the entrance, not into it. She had continued on. The second thing he noticed was a large amount of tracks coming out of the cave. Many, many different sets. The next and last thing was the dim light coming from a ways inside the cave.

Suspicious. _Very_ suspicious. Arthur didn’t think twice and crept into the mouth, withdrawing his sidearms. A Schofield revolver in his right, a volcanic pistol in his left. Once his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, he could see the telltale signs of life. People were living in the cave, and quite a few. But right now it was empty, so Arthur put his guns away. There were cans and bottles discarded in a designated garbage corner. Near the entrance was a small one-horse wagon, some straw, and a few pieces of tack. Horses had likely been hitched around there. There were spare clothes folded or thrown about. Bedrolls and pelts were laid out near the fire that was now nothing but crispy embers. But embers meant it was still fresh. Whoever had been here had left in a hurry, and recently.

Arthur was kicking through the bedding when he heard the rhythmic pounding of horses approaching. It was not Hosea, it hadn’t been an hour and it was far too many horses. Quickly and quietly, he slunk behind a rock near the wall of the cave. The cave was a triangular in shape, with the walls doubling as the ceiling, this meant that closer to the edges of the chamber the ceilings were very low to the ground. Arthur knelt to the floor, getting as close to one of these crevasses as possible, hoping to blend for now.

About a dozen men began to file in. There were fewer horses than men, so several were doubled up on a single horse. As they dismounted, Arthur listened in on their conversation. “How did nobody manage to shoot the goddamn bear!” A loud voice, most likely the leader, his words echoed through the cave. “That monster has been harassing us since we got here.”

The men grumbled amongst themselves as they walked further in, nobody wanted to answer the leader’s question. “And somebody is gonna have to go hunting again soon, before the storm.”

Arthur risked peaking out from the rock, the closer the men got, the more he could see of them. Once they were out of the blaring light, he realized that they all wore blue. It registered instantly who these men were, and it infuriated him. The Sierra Pack. Arthur began to slink along the edge of the chamber, as pressed under the low ceiling as possible. This was the only chance he had to get out. They were all looking forward as they walked into the depths of the cave. If he waited too long, they would spread out and be looking in more directions as they settled in again. With their eyes adjusting from the glaring sun on the snow to the dark blackness of the cave, he’d have the best chance of slipping by unnoticed.

He made it to the mouth, past the horses who eyed him wearily, but didn’t do much more than whinny a few times. Once outside, Arthur rushed down the slope, making sure he was well out of sight of the cave entrance before heading towards Boadicea. He couldn’t risk whistling for her. Arthur had intended to keep her safe by not letting her near the cave, but in the end it had also kept him safe. Had she been within sight, the men would have known someone was there. Whether it was dumb luck or careful precaution, at this point it didn’t matter because he was out unscathed.

Bo’s head bolted from the water in surprise as Arthur rushed towards her. Her ears forward, watching him with curiosity. “Hey girl, we got a bigger problem than a bear it seems. Let’s go find Hosea and your buddy Silver Dollar.” He climbed into the saddle and followed the stream back to the meeting point, the further from the cave he got, the faster he made Bo go. Hoping to keep the sound of her running from reaching the dozen Sierra Pack men.

When Arthur made it to the meeting spot, he checked his pocket watch. Twenty minutes till Hosea was supposed to show. Arthur didn’t feel like waiting, he continued down the stream in a fast canter, following the tracks left by Silver Dollar along the creek.

A few minutes later as he went around a bend, he saw Hosea in the distance. Arthur was happy to see Charles and Javier with him. He yelled out to them. “Hosea! We got a problem.”

“What is it, Arthur?” Hosea called out.

Arthur pulled back on the reins, bringing Boadicea to a stop in front of them. “I found the bear’s trail, it lead me to a cave.”

“Did you lose her in there or something?” Charles asked.

“No that’s not it, Let me finish. There are about a dozen Sierra Pack boys living in the cave.”

“Oh my, that’s not good.” Said Hosea, eyes going wide. He went into deep thought, considering their options.

“No, not good at all.” Arthur growled. “We need to do something about it.”

“Should we go back and get the rest of the gunners?” Javier asked.

“That was my initial thought, but now that you and Charles are here with us, I think the four of us could handle it. I’m glad Hosea ran into you two.” Arthur replied.

“How are the four of us going to take out a dozen men?” Charles said.

“We each take three.” Arthur said simply.

“Mathematically yes, I don’t doubt we can do this, but what’s the plan?”

“Follow me, and we’ll talk it out.” Arthur turned Boadicea back around. The rest took his lead. “I have two ideas. They’re cornered in that cave, I was in there before they all showed up. I didn’t see a back entrance. If we do this right, we can take out a few from outside before they know we’re there. Then we rush in and take the rest.”

“That plan could work, yes.” Said Hosea. “But it could also backfire immensely. It would be very dangerous for us to run headlong into unknown territory like that. What’s the point of taking out a few if we all die when we go in. They have the advantage in that cave.”

Arthur sighed. “That’s why I have more than one plan, Hosea.”

“We still have the option of going and getting more help, Arthur.” Charles reminded.

“I know. I don’t want to risk that. If the four of us can do it, there’s no reason to waste time getting more folk. We don’t know what they’re doing out here. We don’t know when they’ll make whatever move they’re planning. All I know is it looked like about a dozen people lived in that cave, and about a dozen people returned to it. They’re all in there right now. This is our best opportunity to kill them.”

“Let’s hear that second plan then.” Said Javier. “I’m not too keen on dying myself.”

Arthur continued. “That bear me and Hosea were tracking walked in front of the entrance, and based on what I saw and heard from them, every single one of them ran out and chased after it, but no one managed to hurt it. Apparently they’ve been trying to get her for awhile.”

“What does this have to do with the plan, Arthur?” Javier questioned.

“You’re thinking of baiting them out, aren’t you?” Hosea said.

Arthur looked over his shoulder, a devilish grin on his face. “You got my drift, old man. Exactly. No more cave advantage for them, we’ll have the advantage through the confusion we cause.”

“We gonna pretend one of our horses is a bear? How will we accomplish this?” Javier asked.

“I was just thinking of standing close to the entrance, out of sight, and yelling ‘bear!’” Arthur shrugged.

“Won’t they know it’s not one of them?” Charles chimed in.

“I don’t think so.” Said Arthur. “They were real eager to get her, and there’s enough of them that they wouldn’t be thinking too hard on the voice or trying to count their numbers.”

Other than the pounding of the horses’ hooves there was silence for a few moments as they cantered up the creek. But then Hosea spoke up. “Let’s go for it. I think it could work.”

Arthur laughed. “I knew you’d like that one, you sure are a fan of tricking people, being a former conman and all.” Arthur looked towards Charles behind him on his left. “How about you, Mr. Smith?”

“Why not?” Said Charles. “These men are trespassing on our property, even after we chased them off the first time.”

Arthur smiled and gave him nod, then turned to Javier on his right. “Mr. Escuella?”

“Been too long since I’ve got to use my revolver.” Javier grinned. “Trigger finger has gotten mighty itchy. So count me in.”

The four of them continued up the creek, Arthur slowed them down as they got closer, eventually they came to a relaxed walk, then a full stop. Arthur dismounted, the other three followed suit. “We’ll walk from here, give the horses a break and a drink, keep them out of sight.”

Arthur followed his tracks from before, as they reached the slope, he ducked behind nearby foliage. In front of the cave’s mouth was a decent sized clearing, if they could get all the Sierra Pack men out into it, the four of them would have nothing but clean shots. Arthur whispered to his companions. “We need to split up and take points at different angles to increase confusion. I’ll go hide behind a tree on the other side of the entrance and draw them out that way. You three should remain more on this side so you can get a few good shots off at their backs before they know what’s really happening.”

Hosea gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Good plan, Arthur. Sometimes it feels like a lot of your talent’s gonna be wasted on ranching.”

Arthur smiled back. “Well, this is the only thing I’ve ever been any good at. Might be nice to try something new for once.” With that, Arthur crept back down the slope to the other end of the clearing, staying out of sight of the cave. Making it to the other side, he went back up the slope and hid behind a broad tree. Arthur peaked out, waiting for the others to signal they were ready. Hosea stood from behind a rock, giving a wave. Javier, leaned out from a tree himself, saluting Arthur. Charles had climbed above the cave entrance and was crouched behind a few rocks, he gave a nod, rifle in hand. Arthur tipped his hat to all of them, signaling he was ready as well.

Arthur returned to his position behind the tree, back against it. He took a deep breath, then yelled as loud as he could muster “BEAR! The bear’s back!”

After a slight gut-wrenching delay, the sound of shuffling and voices followed by many footfalls was heard. He risked peaking out and, just as Arthur had predicted, the men came rushing out. A few had managed to get up on horseback. They weren’t all looking the correct way yet, so Arthur ducked back behind the tree and yelled once more, out of sight. “Come on, this way! She went down the hill!”

He heard one shout. “Let’s go!” And the sound of movement in his direction soon followed. The next thing he heard was a rifle shot followed a split second later by a revolver, then a repeater. Finally the yells of confusion began, and Arthur was able to peak out from his tree, pistol and revolver in hand. There were already a few dead, the rest were looking around wildly and fumbling for their weapons.

Arthur took two shots. Two more dropped. He ducked back behind the tree, many more guns sounding off. It would be impossible to tell now if they were the shots of friends or foes, but so far no bullets had ricocheted near him. He took a breath, used his thumbs to pull back the hammers of his handguns, then exhaled as he looked back to the clearing. Four left. Two more shots from Arthur. Two more dropped. No longer concerned for cover, Arthur moved out fully. The last two noticed him stalking towards them, turning and going to aim their guns. A shot from Charles killed the one on the left, and a shot from Hosea dropped the final man.

As the three of them went to move out from cover, Arthur holstered his pistol and held up his left hand, jerking his head towards the cave a few times. The other three got the message, remaining out of sight of the mouth. Arthur walked up to the edge of the entrance, remaining a safe distance to the side so he couldn’t be seen from inside. “Anyone else in there?” He shouted, revolver in his right hand raised.

Inaudible echoes of his voice. Then silence.

Arthur laughed for effect. “I got some dynamite that I’m all too happy to throw in. If the blast don’t get you, the cave-in will. Is that how you wanna die?”

More echoes, but this time they were joined by a whimper. “N-no.” A pitiful voice. “If I come out, will you let me live?”

“I don’t know yet, but I do know that if you don’t come out, you will surely die.”

Silence again.

“You got ten seconds to get out here. After that, _boom_.” Arthur threatened with another laugh. “Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven-”

“Okay, okay. I-I’m coming out. I don’t got any guns on me, I’m unarmed.” The voice was getting closer. Soon enough, the voice’s owner was out in the snow, his hands in the air, blinking rapidly in the brightness. A younger man, but still a man. Light blond hair, all dressed in blue.

Quick as a snake, Arthur was on him. He grabbed him from behind and wrapped an arm around his neck, dragged him out to the middle of the clearing. The young man protested, but was not nearly as strong as Arthur. He was thrown into the center of the bloody massacre. Red stained snow and bodies all around them. Arthur flipped him onto his back and put a heavy boot on his chest, pressing much harder than was necessary to keep the young Sierra boy pinned. “You’re gonna break my ribs!” He managed to squawk, both hands on Arthur’s boot trying to pry it off.

Arthur ignored the young man’s pleas, looking to his own companions. “Check the cave for anymore survivors or anything of use.”

“You got it, boss.” Said Charles, pulling out his sawed-off shotgun and slinking in. Javier was quick to follow.

Hosea looked to Arthur, repeater in hand, a half-hearted smile on his face. “Don’t hurt him too bad. We need him able to talk.” Then he entered into the cave before Arthur could reply.

Arthur turned his attention back to the young man struggling beneath his foot. His voice a low, deep growl, prime for terrifying fresh recruits. “You best talk, boy. Or you’re gonna end up like all your little buddies here.” He gestured around the short-lived battlefield, bodies slumped and bleeding on all sides.

“I’ll talk, I’ll talk!” The young man coughed.

“Very good.” Arthur rewarded him by letting up on his chest. The Sierra boy would need to be able to breath to talk. “What were you doing in that cave?”

“I-It’s a Sierra Pack hideout, we were stationed there.”

“This land don’t belong to no Sierra Pack. Why were you in there?”

“That’s the truth, honest!”

Arthur pressed his boot down again, aiming the revolver at him. “Not the _full_ truth. So it’s a hideout, but _why_ were you hiding out?”

The man squeaked under the pressure. “The ranch -- the ranch! We were supposed to attack the ranch in the night when the weather got better. We were gonna go in a few days, James said there was one last storm on the way, but after it was over we would be fine to go.”

“James your leader?” Arthur asked.

“Of this camp, but he’s dead now.”

“Who’s your gang leader, then?”

The young man laughed. “You must be an outsider. Everyone knows Bart Franklin.”

Arthur pressed harder, which forced the man to exhale. “You would be wise not to laugh.” He let up again. “And you would be right, we ain’t from around here.”

“The Sierra Pack lost a lot of good men when we tried to run you out the first time. What the hell kind of ranchers are you?”

“I’m asking the questions here, boy. It ain’t your business, and this ain’t your land no more. It never was to begin with. How many families trying to start a life here have your people killed, huh?”

“I don’t know! I only joined a few months ago.”

“You spilled your guts so easily. I could tell.” Arthur chuckled at him. “I got one more question before I decide whether you live or die, so don’t lie to me, and maybe you’ll li - ”

Arthur was interrupted by an earthshattering roar. Looking up, an enormous grizzly bear stood on its hind legs just beyond the clearing.

“Holy mother of god.” Arthur whispered to himself, backing up a few paces. He barely noticed the now freed Sierra boy scramble on his hands and knees off to the side.

The bear returned to all fours, charging forward, directly towards Arthur. He could feel the pounding vibrations of her paws as she rhythmically slammed them into the ground. Her eyes dead set on him.

Instinctually, he holstered his revolver, removing the powerful new rifle from his shoulder.

The bear getting closer.

Pulled the bolt, loading a bullet into the chamber.

Closer.

Lifted the gun.

Even closer.

Aimed.

Rearing up again, nearly on him.

Pulled the trigger.

The back of the bear’s head exploded with a geyser of blood. Her momentum didn’t slow, she collapsed forward. Arthur was pinned beneath her.

“Arthur!” Charles yelled from inside the cave.

There was the sound of a horse’s hooves galloping away, then Javier shouted. “The little bastard’s getting away!” A couple revolver shots were heard. “Damn it!” Javier yelled.

“There’s no time, help Arthur.” Charles’ voice again.

“Arthur!” Hosea’s voice. “Arthur are you alive?”

“Just about.” He said, muffled by hundreds of pounds of bear.

“Let’s get this monster off him.” Charles said. “You weren’t kidding, this bear is huge.”

Arthur felt the weight begin to lift off him. He helped by pushing up on her chest, when enough of her weight was removed, he quickly scrambled backwards, out from under the massive bear. Then he collapsed again on his back, taking deep breaths of the cold winter air, tinged with metallic blood. No longer being suffocated by the weight and musk of the immense beast.

His eyes were closed for several moments, when he opened them, the figures of his three companions loomed over him. Hosea kneeled down. “Are you okay, Arthur?”

He sighed. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. My pride hurts a little, but at least we got the bear we set out to find.”

Hosea laughed. “I think she went for you because of your blue coat. I don’t think she liked those Sierra Pack boys.”

Arthur put a hand on Hosea’s chest and shoved. “Oh shut up, old man.”

Hosea stumbled backwards landing on his rear, in clean snow somehow, laughing even more. Arthur was getting sick of being looked down on, so got to his feet and stood to his full height. Now he got to look down on everyone else again. Being the tallest made it easy. Though Charles wasn’t much shorter, perhaps the same height even. Arthur adjusted his coat and brushed the snow from himself, trying to ignore the fact that most of it was red. He grabbed Hosea by the arm and pulled him to his feet. “Enough laughing. I heard that Sierra boy run off. Think we can catch him?”

Charles shook his head. “He grabbed one of the horses hitched in the cave entrance. It’s not worth it. There’s a storm coming tonight. He’ll probably get caught in it, I doubt he’ll make it. We could track him, but then we’d get caught in the storm too.”

Arthur nodded. “Fair enough.” He sighed. “I probably shoulda just killed him. Got some good information though.”

Javier spoke from next to the bear. “Let’s hear about it after we skin this monster.” His knife was out and ready to go.

Arthur stopped him, pulling out his own knife. “Don’t you dare. I killed her, I’m gonna skin her. I deserve to after she nearly crushed me to death.”

Javier sighed with his whole body, playing up his annoyance. He put his knife away and gestured to the bear dramatically, a joking smile on his face. “She’s all yours, Mr. Morgan.”

“Thank you, Mr. Escuella.” Arthur chuckled at his display.

“We’ll deal with the bodies while you do that, Arthur.” Hosea said.

Arthur tried to tip his hat and realized it was gone, he went to look for it around the bear.

“What are we going to do with them?” Asked Charles. “Too many and too cold to bury them. Not that they deserve it.”

“I was thinking we just drag them back into the cave. Some wolves or coyotes might deal with the disposal. We can’t exactly have a massacre just lying out in the middle of our property, can we?”

“No, that wouldn’t be good.” Charles agreed.

“And if more from the Sierra Pack show up, it’ll look like they died from the cold or were mauled instead of shot up, and that would be favorable for us. Though most of these men have obvious bullet wounds.” Hosea sighed. “But we’ll have to take that risk, hopefully they’ll decompose or get eaten before anyone finds them. I’d suggest burning them, but that would create a huge smoke signal for anybody nearby. Friendly or foe. Not to mention the storm would likely arrive and put the fire out before they’re burned up. And we also chance starting a wild fire.”

Charles heaved a Sierra boy over his shoulder. “Your reasoning is good, Mr. Mathews. Let’s get these men back inside.”

Javier lifted one to his back as well. Hosea found a little one wearing a ridiculous wolf pelt wrapped around a bandolier, and started dragging him backwards to the cave.

Arthur found his hat under the bear’s right paw. He dusted the snow off and pushed it back onto his head. His rifle had been missing too, he found it in the snow beneath her muzzle. He slung it over his shoulder, maintenance for the gun could wait. Arthur went around to the bear’s side and rammed his shoulder into her, pushing the beast over so her belly was facing out, then he took the knife and cut her down from the throat to the back legs. Properly skinning a bear was always time consuming, and Arthur wasn’t new to it. But a bear of this size made the whole process longer and more difficult.

Arthur was about halfway through the bloody task when the bodies had all been placed inside the cave. They talked while they waited for him to finish up. “What did you find in the cave? I didn’t really get to look for long when I found the place.” Arthur asked.

“Not much.” Answered Charles. “I figure they’d been in there for a month at least. Probably not long after we chased off their attempted invasion.”

“The kid said they were supposed to attack the ranch again when the weather got better. It’d been nothing but blizzards and wind through February. No wonder they’d been in there so long.”

“Dios mío, they really don’t want us here, do they?” Javier laughed.

“We’re not going to let them scare us off like they have everyone else. We’ve already reduced their numbers dramatically, especially after today.” Arthur said.

“I agree.” Hosea nodded. “Normally I wouldn’t, but they are amateurish in their ambushes and tactics. So long as we’re alert, they’ll never be able to get us. We just need to treed carefully for awhile until they realize we aren’t worth the trouble.”

The three of them nodded and muttered in agreement with Hosea, then Charles spoke up again. “There was one thing of interest in that cave, actually.”

“What’s that?” Said Javier. “I didn’t see much.”

“The bear used to live there.”

“Really?” Arthur looked up from his work.

Charles nodded. “I found her den, there was another chamber in the back, didn’t even notice it at first. When I peaked in, it looked like there was an second entrance that had been caved in.”

“Shit, you think that’s why this bear was out of hibernation, then?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, I bet they didn’t realize she was there. They probably woke her up, and she went out the back. When she tried to return later, likely through the front, that’s when they chased her out, found her den, and caved it in.”

“A lot of guess work there, Charles.” Said Arthur with a smile.

The young man sighed. “It’s the only thing I can think of that would make some amount of sense.”

Hosea laughed. “I’ll take it as an explanation. I don’t want to live on this ranch thinking giant non-hibernating bears are native here.” He paused for a moment. “And that really would explain why she attacked blue Arthur over here. He could easily be mistaken for a Sierra boy.”

Arthur sighed with exasperation again. “Enough of that. I can wear blue if I want to, god damn it.”

Hosea’s laughing was infectious, and Arthur found himself laughing at himself too in the end. Shortly after, Arthur had the pelt rolled up and secured with rope. They whistled for their horses, a few moments passed and they could hear sound of hooves galloping towards them. Boadicea, Silver Dollar, Taima, and Boaz appeared from the forest down the slope. The slowed and waited by their respective riders. Bo patiently stood as Arthur laid the pelt on her rump, tying it to the saddle, the load was heavy, but Boadicea was strong and she’d had a decent break. Before they left, they released the remaining Sierra Pack horses, but took a strong looking gold dapple turkoman and blue roan nokota for the ranch.

The four of them mounted up, and began the ride back home, Charles and Javier leading the new horses. They made it to the farmhouse just before sunset. Their journey peaceful and uneventful. They exited the woods beyond the back of farmhouse, and just as he had a few days prior, Arthur stopped the horses outside the backdoor. After hitching up, he removed the bear pelt from Bo and hefted it over his shoulder. Charles, Javier, and Hosea did the same with their deer.

When Arthur pushed his way through the backdoor into the large kitchen, he was meet by Pearson preparing dinner.

“Ah, Mr. Morgan. Did you find any fresh meat?” The former Navy man asked.

“Does the bear on my shoulder not speak louder than any words I might have?” His low voice laced with sarcasm.

“That’s a pelt, sir. Not meat.” Pearson replied. He looked closer at the fur. “It’s a very nice pelt, would you like me to make something out of it?”

“How about a rug for in front of the parlor fireplace?”

Pearson seemed to like that idea. “When I have time, I would be glad to, just go throw that in the cellar for now, wrap it up so it doesn’t get chewed on. I’ll probably get to it tomorrow or the next day.”

Arthur nodded, then he turned towards the door to the basement stairwell. He grabbed the designated cellar lantern and lit it before he went down. When he descended the stairs, the atmosphere was just as dusty, grey, and dark as he remembered. He wrapped the pelt in a sheet from the linen room and then put it up on a shelf in the miscellaneous storage room. When he returned to the kitchen, Pearson was chatting with Javier and Charles, three dead deer lying on various counters. Hosea had likely gone off to explain what they’d seen to Dutch. Which meant Arthur didn’t have to do it. Thank god.

Dinner that night was bland. But bland was better than bad. And Pearson was capable of bad, _very_ capable. Lenny and a few others bombarded him with questions about the bear, which he tried not to answer by saying ‘I shot her and she fell on me.’

Arthur drew a picture of that fearsome creature before he went to bed that night. The sight of her standing on her hind legs and roaring was not something he was going to forget. It made drawing that moment from memory easy.

_When I woke up this morning, I did not think I was going to experience anything like I did today. An impromptu hunting trip with Hosea lead to a couple bizarre occurrences. It was Hosea, should I be surprised?_

_Other than being crushed under the biggest bear I’d ever seen, I found a cave full of Sierra Pack boys. Lucky Hosea found Javier and Charles when we split up, otherwise we would’ve had to go get help. Pretty amazing what four good gunmen and a good plan can do. Those poor fools had no idea what hit them. Too bad that little one got away, I can thank the damn bear for that. She was furious with those boys. But who can blame her? They took over her home. Just like they’re trying to do to us. Feel a little bad about killing her now, but then again, I didn’t have much of a choice._

_Sometimes I forget how spontaneous Hosea can be. It was nice to get to spend time with him, just us two. In many ways he’s like a father to me, and I love him like he were too. With so many people around anymore, I rarely get to speak to him in private. It felt like the old days. Not that I should be missing the old days. We’re going to lead a better life now. At least I hope we are. I killed several men today, something I was expecting, or maybe hoping, not to have to do again. This Sierra Pack gang really wants us dead. It’s good they don’t know who we are. But even if Hosea and Dutch aren’t worried, that don’t mean I ain’t._


	4. Raised or Razed (Monday, April 4th, 1898)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never intended such a long break, and I deeply apologize. When I went to post this chapter originally a week after 3, I was just not happy with it. So it went through a rewrite, changing the content of the chapter drastically, but in the process life got in the way many times, I lost a lot of my writing rhythm and it took me a long LONG time to get done. Am I completely happy with the rewrite? Not exactly. But I am happy to get it posted. Again, I am so sorry.

Today was the day. The day the property would finally begin its transformation back into a legitimate ranch under the new ownership of one ‘Aiden O’Malley.’ The snowmelt was slower at the higher altitude, with patches of sloshy snow in the shadier areas. The three wagons not kept in the horse barn had finally thawed out, making them usable once more. Uncle’s snow-twin was still fighting to survive with one arm already gone and the other reaching out desperately, the scarf and hat having long since been reclaimed by their original owner. Spring had undoubtedly won its battle with winter. The grass was becoming greener, buds were visible on a select variety of trees and bushes, animals more abundant, and the days were longer.

Arthur had been sat on the front porch, enjoying the relatively mild warmth and lack of cold winds. The lumber had been delivered earlier in the morning via a virtual caravan of horse drawn wagons, leaving behind deep muddy hoof prints and wheel ruts. The contractor they’d hired and his crew were at work building the new barn. Sawing, hammering, and yelling echoed through the area as the men were hard at work.

Arthur had been sketching the scenery when Dutch practically burst through the front door. “Christ alive, Dutch.” Arthur exhaled, shutting his journal and looking over at the man beaming down at him. “What’s gotten into you?”

Dutch was happy, too happy. So happy that he impossibly wanted the whole operation up and running that day. “Progress, Arthur, my dear boy.” The older man said. “We’ll be ranchers in no time.”

“You ever run a ranch before, Dutch?” Arthur asked.

“Absolutely not.” He replied. “But there’s no better time to start learning than now.”

“You ain’t even figured out what kind of livestock we’ll be raising.” Arthur only half joked.

Dutch pat him on the shoulder. “Sure I have, it’ll be cattle.”

“You said sheep three days ago.”

“Well now it’s cattle.” The older man replied.

“That was the original plan, Dutch.”

“And the original plan is almost always right, son.” He sighed. “You need to go with your gut instinct on some things.”

Arthur shook his head. “If you say so.”

“I do say so. Now enough of this small talk, I have a job for you.”

In the past that usually meant robbery or murder. In the present, as the inexperienced, average, regular citizen he was now, Arthur had no idea what that could imply. “What needs doing, Dutch?” He asked.

Dutch smiled. “I need you to check around the nearby ranches and farms, ask about buying us some cattle.”

Arthur cocked a brow, pointing at himself. “Me? I’m not sure my ugly mug is who you want representing the lot of us, why don’t you send Hosea?”

Dutch laughed. “Because _you_ are the foreman, son. You need to be able to talk to others in the business and you need to learn how to barter. Among other things”

The younger man shook his head and sighed, but there was no point in arguing with Dutch, particularly when he was as excited as this. “Okay, sure. I’ll go.”

Dutch smiled knowingly, Arthur always did as he was told. “Good, good. How about you take Uncle with you?”

Arthur snapped his eyes to Dutch, maybe arguing with Dutch _was_ necessary. “Excuse me? Why on Earth would I do that?”

“Would you believe he used to work on a ranch?”

“I don’t believe it.” Arthur pointed at the melting snowman. “His dying twin out there would have deeper knowledge on farm life and cattle than Uncle ever could.”

“Oh no, he told me himself.”

“You believe anything that old man says?”

“That’s the _only_ thing I’ve believed that the old man’s said.” Dutch replied.

“And how do you figure that?”

“His smell.”

Arthur smiled. “I’d agree there. He may have left the ranch, but clearly the ranch never left him.” He paused. “Anybody else have any knowledge on farming?” Anybody but Uncle was all Arthur wanted.

“Arthur we were all outlaws, I don’t believe a single one of us has managed to successfully live a ‘decent’ before.”

“Yes, but we all weren’t born into this life, maybe someone else has a past that involved work on a farm?”

“Perhaps you’re right, Arthur.” Dutch pat him on the back. “But I sent most of the boys off earlier today. Charles should be busy hunting and checking the perimeter for more of those damn Sierra boys. Lenny and the Calladers are with him. All the rest are helping the contractor with the barn.”

“Then I’ll go by myself, I ain’t taking Uncle.”

Dutch gave him a stern look. “Not up for debate, Arthur. Now get ready to go. There’s a few places around here you can look into. One near Barron’s Ridge, another few in the valley, and plenty around Little River. Be sure and leave a good impression.”

“Okay, Dutch.” He conceded.

Dutch’s face instantly turned into a smile and he moved to the door. “Now I must go find Hosea and discuss more about the future of our property. We’re going to have a talk with our contractor about potential projects in the future.”

Arthur sighed and looked out towards the new barn, steadily being raised. He shook his head and stood from the creaky wooden chair. “Going to be exciting to see how we mess this up.” He said to himself.

Then he made his way back inside, returning to his room upstairs to dig through his clothing chest. Hoping to find a clean looking shirt, which was a challenge, because which of all these badly beaten up shirts was the _least_ badly beaten up? Arthur knew he needed to appear presentable. He looked over a decent looking brown one, only to notice a bullet hole patch on the left upper arm. Shaking his head he put it back, managing to at last find a fairly new green shirt with limited stains.

Arthur pulled out a pair of jeans, which also happened to have a bullet hole patch, this one a graze on the left thigh. “Here’s hoping I don’t get shot today.” He muttered, observing the patchwork, then sighed. He desperately needed some new clothes. Tossing it back he grabbed another pair, lacking a hole.

He changed into the chosen outfit, tossing the others on the bed, and grabbed his scout jacket. It was still chilly enough that warm clothes were needed. He took a canteen with him as he left his room, going outside to the well. The water was very near the top, with the snow melting and the air humid everything was perpetually damp. Pulling the bucket up, Arthur poured the fresh water into the canteen. It was going to be a long day, perhaps even couple of days. It was likely he’d have to stop to camp for the night and continue on in the morning.

Arthur took a quick late breakfast from Pearson. A bit of bread and salted meat. He also took an apple when the ex-navy man wasn’t looking. If it was for himself or Boadicea, he hadn’t decided yet.

With a reluctant sigh he went about the task of searching for Uncle. Easy enough to assume he’d be a lump leaned up against a wall somewhere, often times simply sprawled out on the ground.

Which very much turned out to be the case once more. Snoring loudly, his back against the wall in the first floor hallway. Already irritated that he had to bring this drunkard along, Arthur none so gently kicked the man awake.

Woken from his daytime slumber, the old man gasped as he fell to his side. “W-what is it?” Uncle asked, pushing himself back to sit.

“Get up, and get moving. We have some ranches to visit.”

Uncle returned Arthur’s scowl with an innocent look that should have been impossible for such a dirty old man. “Why me? Is this some kind of punishment for not pulling my weight? I’m telling you, I’ve got lumbago. And it’s been acting particularly bad today. It’s uh . . . it’s very serious. Terminal, really. I don’t have long fo-“

“Would you shut up already?” Arthur interrupted, bringing his hand to his face and sighing. “I’m not happy about it either, but Dutch said I gotta take you cause of your _‘experience’._ ” He put a mocking twist on the last word.

“I really _was_ a rancher before, you know.” Uncle replied, attempting to stand.

Arthur groaned, grabbing the old man by his forearm and helped heft him to his feet. “And I was a choir boy.” With uncle up, he turned the man around and pushed him forward. “Let’s get going. Gonna be out all day. Ain’t nothing all that close by to check out.”

Uncle stumbled a bit but caught himself, looking back at Arthur, offended. “Can we eat something first?”

“Already did.”

“Can we wait till after lunch?”

“No.”

Despite his protests, Uncle still followed along. “Where we going?”

“I already told you.”

“Oh you told me we’re going to visit ranches.” Uncle replied as they approached the front door. “But you haven’t said which ones. You even _know_ where they are?”

Arthur huffed as he opened the door. “Of course I do. I’ve had maps of the area long since committed to memory. I’ll get us where we need to go.”

Uncle shrugged. “You always was good with maps and directions.”

“And why wouldn’t I be?” Arthur replied, glancing over his shoulder.

Uncle threw up his hands defensively. “It weren’t a challenge, big man.”

Arthur decided to reply with silence. Uncle always hated silence.

Making it into the barn, they found Bill at work cleaning the stalls, as usual. The horses stood bored behind their gates, waiting for that old outlaw action that would never come again. The Callanders were supposed to be responsible for exercising and grooming them today, but Dutch had sent them off without asking Arthur. They were probably thrilled to get out of horse care duty. So he had no clue if they’d all gotten their care for the day. God damn it they really needed a dedicated stable boy.

Bill said nothing as they came in further, only small mutterings and annoyed grumbles escaped him. Uncle split off to get Nell II, Arthur removed Boadicea from her stall. She gave him a snort on his hat before she followed after to the center isle, then stood patiently, awaiting her tack.

As he shooed the hens away from the tack room door, he heard a very quiet _‘ah shit’_ from the room. The voice sounded _exceptionally_ Irish. Rolling his eyes, he pulled open the door. Growling out a “What the hell are you doing, Macguire?” Before he even saw the man himself.

Peaking out from behind the bags of chicken feed, Sean’s green hat stood out like a sore thumb. The young man bolted up, glancing between Arthur and the gap in the door. “Feeding the hens.” He said far too quickly

“Are you?” Arthur replied, moving into the door frame, blocking it with his broad body. He knew full well Sean would try and get out of this.

“What else could I be doing in here, Morgan?” Sean challenged, cheeky grin on his gaunt face. But with the door blocked, he stopped darting his eyes around for an exit.

“Don’t treat me like a fool, boy.” He moved the rest of the way in. “You’re hiding.”

“Me? Hide? You think I’m a coward?”

“I think you’re an idiot.”

“Ahh, you love me, Arthur Morgan.”

“Would love for you to shut up and get back to work.”

“Ain’t no work for me to do. Callanders have horse duty today, Dutch sent most the other boys out hunting. What could I do?”

“I’m pretty sure.” Arthur took one menacing step forward, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder, squeezing harder than he needed. “You’re supposed to be helping build the barn.”

“That’s what the hired fools are for, Arthur. I don’t gotta help with that. If Dutch wants so much help with the barn, why don’t you do it?”

“I would, if I weren’t busy with something else today.”

“Yeah? And what’s that, big man?”

Another sigh. “Gonna go riding out today, check out some other ranches and maybe see if we can do some business with them in the future.”

Sean’s eyes lit up. “How about I join you?”

A strong and definitive “ _No_.”

Like a kicked puppy, Sean’s eyes went sad and discouraged. “Why no-”

“You need to learn how to do something useful.” Arthur interrupted. “So go learn how to build barns.”

“Couldn’t you get John, or . . . or Charles when he gets back to do that?”

“John’s already out there with the rest of them. Stop arguing and go do it.” Arthur replied.

With a roll of his eyes and an exaggerated sigh, Sean replied, “Fine, they ain’t gonna be too happy with me though. I am an ‘idiot’ after all.”

“Anyone not hunting or doing regular chores is working on the barn, Dutch wants it done as soon as possible. So just get out there and learn something.”

The young man gave a sarcastic little salute “Yes sir!” He replied, lowering his voice a couple octaves. Then he turned and marched out the door.

Irritated but satisfied, Arthur returned to the business at hand, finding his saddle and bridal where he’d left them hung up on the wall. He gave Bo a quick brush down before he put the saddle blanket on her, not trusting Mac or Davey to have done a sufficient job, or to have even done it at all. Then he strapped her tack on and waited for Uncle to do the same for Nell II.

Annoyance built as he watched the old man hobble slowly from the tack room, holding his saddle like it weighed as much as the horse he was going to put it on. Arthur was at his breaking point when he saw Uncle try and fail three times to lift the saddle high enough to place on his horse. So without a word, he came over, yanked the thing from the old man’s hands and put it over Nell II’s back.

“Why thank you, Arthur.” Uncle said, rubbing his back. “You’re not so unkind after all.”

“I don’t have time for your nonsense today, old man.”

“Still snappy as an alligator I see. I told you my lumbago is acting up.”

Arthur shook his head, grumbling as he took Boadicea by the reins and began to lead her towards the exit. “We’ll be on our way now, Uncle. I hope you can muster the strength to mount up because I am _not_ lifting you onto your horse.”

“Who, me? I am an excellent horseman, Arthur Morgan.”

He rolled his eyes again and continued onwards getting the horses outside. Putting a foot in a stirrup and swinging himself onto Bo, Arthur once again was left waiting for Uncle to do the same. Which, not surprisingly, he did. And with practiced ease. ‘Lumbago.’ It was laughable.

With the old man situated, Arthur spurred Bo forward, Uncle and Nell II close behind. Arthur would have preferred a quiet journey through the mountains and budding forests, but with Uncle along, that was entirely impossible. Story after story, the content of some so completely bizarre that their validity had to be questioned. Arthur kept his replies to questions short and curt. Hoping to stave off conversation. This was of course unsuccessful, Uncle didn’t need another person to have a conversation.

Early afternoon they arrived at their first stop, the nearest ranch to their own, not far from Barron’s Ridge. Simply named “Willard Acres.” Arthur could only hope the gang would be more creative than that when they properly named their property. Situated far nearer to the valley than the mountains, it was hilly, grassy, a bit rocky. But good grazing land for cattle. Several barns with fenced in pastures sat at a distance from the large central farmhouse, many smaller houses and sheds nearby. A nice, decent sized operation. There was hope they’d have enough cattle to sell a few.

At a fair distance from the property’s entrance, Arthur pulled up on the reins, bringing Bo to a stop. She gave a slight huff, otherwise her behavior was as good as ever. “Now don’t go making a fool of yourself when we get in there, Uncle.” He said.

“Oh me? I was gonna say the same to you.” Uncle pulled Nell II up beside him.

“I know when to hold my tongue, old man. You have a bad habit of never shutting up.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with being a talkative sort.”

“Maybe not, but there is certainly something wrong with you.”

“You’ll appreciate my charm one of these days, Arthur.”

“I figure I’ll be dead before that day comes. Or you.”

Uncle laughed to himself. “Tough talk.”

Arthur pressed on forward then, moving through the open front gate, a big sign overhead with the ranch’s name and sigil displayed. It didn’t take long for some young ranch hand to approach and ask what the two of them wanted. Arthur must have been somewhat believable or convincing as a foreman, because the young man brought him directly to the ranch’s own foreman.

The conversation didn’t get far. Pleasantries out of the way they were quickly turned down from any potential business dealings. Politely, but with finality. No point in arguing, as irritated as it made him, Arthur knew better than to upset their neighbors and competition. As new to the game as they were, they could not afford enemies. They headed on to the next farmstead, Northwest of where they were now.

Uncle continued to regale Arthur with tales of his life the whole ride over, Arthur didn’t hear a word he said, years of practice allowed him to perfectly tune out the sound of his voice. This allowed him to get caught up in his own brain and enjoying the scenery around them, while still paying mind of their surroundings. As they all knew, outlaws were an issue in these parts still, and being ready for an ambush at any moment was unfortunately necessary.

As they neared their next query, Arthur did catch the old man saying something about using a hen to smuggle a pair of diamond earrings. He was _almost_ disappointed he’d missed the context to that story. But he shook his head and told Uncle to quiet down as they rode onto the next property. A more wooded area, rockier too. But there was plenty of fields for grazing livestock. This ranch, Coyote Trail, had a similar set up to the previous, well maintained, big operation.

Trotting past the fields, Uncle rode up next to Arthur, and was the one to make the observation. “Only see sheep and goats, Arthur. Ain’t gonna find the cattle Dutch wanted here.”

Arthur hummed his agreement. “Perhaps not, maybe we shouldn’t even bother them.”

Uncle shook his head. “They gotta know we’re here by now. Wouldn’t look good to just ride up, look around, then leave. At least introduce ourselves. Maybe don’t even ask about cattle. It’ll just be a social call, a ‘hello, we’re new in the area, we just wanna make friends.’”

Arthur grumbled, the old man was right. And he’d said it himself, they wanted to be on good terms with the neighbors. “Well then, let’s go exchange pleasantries.”

Much the same as Willard’s Acres, a Coyote Trail ranch hand approached them and willingly brought them to the foreman, one Simon Beaufort. Friendly and to the point, but obviously busy with spring arriving. So after a quick conversation, Arthur and Uncle politely excused themselves before overstaying their welcome and running patients down.

Very little luck so far, but they had a fair amount more to go. The sun was getting close to setting as they approached the next nearest farm. This one, Lloyd Creek, was striking compared to the others, in that it was run down and seemed to be falling apart where it stood. Shingles missing on barns, fences broken and in need of repair, doors ajar. The place would appear abandoned had it not been for the small number of animals grazing in the fields and the very few ranch hands working to repair the overwhelming amount of issues.

Stopping to take in the view, Arthur heard Uncle make a sound of contemplation next to him. “I don’t think this one is worth the trouble, Arthur.”

Looking over the mess before him, he huffed a small laugh. “We can both agree on that. Wonder what happened here? You think it’s a recent purchase like ours?”

“Oh, I dunno about that.” The old man shook his head. “Could be a family business going down hill thanks to bad practice.”

“Maybe they were robbed by them Sierra boys.”

“To me it looks more like they don’t make enough money.”

“How you figure that, Uncle?”

“Not enough livestock or hands. They got men fixing stuff up, but they’re so behind that by the time something gets fixed, I bet another thing gets broken.”

“That so?”

“Yes, I’d say so, not all the damage looks particularly new, like it’s been there for awhile, and they just can’t get to it.”

Arthur hummed and nodded. “Hope we can keep from turning out like them.” He waved his hand out towards the rundown ranch.

“I’ll make sure it don’t happen that way.” Uncle replied

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Oh I’m sure you will.”

He nudged Bo back to moving, Uncle doing the same with Nell II. But as they turned around, there was a sudden shouting and before they had time to realize what had happened, a man with a white knuckled grip on a shotgun was at their side. Weapon aimed directly at Arthur’s chest. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing here.” The man hissed.

In his best effort to keep the situation from escalating, Arthur raised up his hands slowly and spoke as calmly as he could. “We’re just passing by, new to the area, thought we’d check out the local farmsteads.”

Quickly the gun was on Uncle, the man’s eyes looking the old coot up and down, then back he was back to Arthur. “What you want with this here ranch?”

“We were hoping to do some business, but that doesn’t look to be something you’re in the market for.”

“If you came to steal from us, we’ll know. And don’t think we won’t take matters into our own hands.”

“Well, you don’t gotta worry about that, friend. I ain’t no thief.” Arthur replied. It was the truth, anymore at least.

Not fully satisfied, the man continued to hold the gun raised, but it was no longer aiming it directly at them. “Then get on outta here. Lloyd Creek don’t want nothing to do with you.”

“We’ll be on our way then.” Arthur tipped his hat to the man as he lowered his hands back down to the reins, then nudged Boadicea forward, the mare moving on command and getting them the hell away from that insanity.

When they were a fair distance away, He heard a giggle, then a wheezing laugh from behind him. Rolling his eyes, Arthur turned his head to see Uncle having a hell of a time. “What the hell is it, old man?”

“You mean to tell me you didn’t think that was funny?”

“You weren’t the one with the shotgun pointed at you.”

Uncle snorted. “Big bad Arthur Morgan, scared by a yokel with a rusty shotgun? Thought I’d never see the day.”

It was like everyone today wanted to get on his nerves. He shook his head, pulling out his pocket watch. “We got two more nearby to look at, but I’m thinking we either go visit them and camp out or we go back to the house and come out in the morning.”

His laughing mostly gone, Uncle spoke normally, but teasing as usual. “Are you asking me my opinion, or are you thinking out loud? Cause we both know you aren’t gonna listen to what I have to say about that.”

Arthur laughed this time, a small chuckle. “That’s true.” Scratching the back of his neck, he looked out towards the sun as at it began to near the mountains on the horizon. He was in no such mood to share a small campsite with the dirty old man. Or deal with his snoring. Or his non-stop stories. The potential for some singing wouldn’t be unwelcome, it had been awhile since they’d all gotten together and belted out a few songs. But overall, maybe he’d gotten used to the privacy of having his own room, of having an actual bed to sleep on, maybe he’d gone just a smidge soft. “Let’s head back home, come out in the morning.” He decided.

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Uncle replied, humor in his tone. “Alright, lead the way, boss.”

With yet another roll of the eyes, Arthur spurred Bo forward, back towards their ranch.

•••••

The sun hadn’t even cracked the horizon when Tilly heard the distinct grumblings of the men rustling around the house. It wasn’t unusual for them to be up early; in the past it was often required for them to get up at ungodly hours in order to make it to a particular mark or heist on time. Pearson was the only one typically up pre-dawn, as there was a massive breakfast to be made by himself for over twenty people. But as things were now, it had been months since she’d heard all of them, _all of them,_ up and ready to go before dawn.

Tilly didn’t imagine she’d be falling asleep again, so she sat up and did her best to observe her surroundings. From the attic above, the men were stomping around in their rooms, eight of them up there sharing various storage rooms turned bedrooms. For now in the cooler weather, they would be able to sleep up there. But come summer the heat may be too much. But that was a problem for later. Further down the hall she heard a few more doors open, hearing the unmistakable sound of Dutch’s voice encouraging Hosea to ‘get out of bed old timer’. So he was the one making them wake up.

By dawn all the men were downstairs. Tilly was just falling back asleep when Ms. Grimshaw busted through the door. “Up and at-em, ladies. We’ve got lots of work to do today.”

Karen grumbled, turning over in her blankets. “It's too early. We don’t ever have to work this early.”

“With all those dumb fools working on the barn, we’ve got to pick up the slack.” Grimshaw came further in, nudging them with her foot.

“They’re not _all_ working on it, are they?” Karen replied, pulling her legs back from Grimshaw’s onslaught. “They weren’t yesterday.”

“Yesterday, no. But today Dutch has near every man on it. He wants that building done by sundown.”

Karen made a groan, putting her head in her hands.

“Come on.” Grimshaw barked out. “Wood’s not gonna chop itself.”

“But Arthur always does that.” Tilly said.

“Not today he’s not, so how about you go do it?”

Tilly sighed, heavily. Then tossed the blankets away and stood. “Yes, Ms. Grimshaw, I just need to get properly dressed first.” She said sweetly.

“Good.” Grimshaw replied then turned her attention to the other two. “Karen, you’re going to clean the stables.”

Karen bolted to attention. “ME? Why _me_?”

“Well, you’re surely the strongest and dirtiest of the three of you. Bill’s not gonna be able to today, so you’re the next best thing.”

“You cannot compare me to-to _Bill_.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Would you rather I compare you to Uncle? Get moving, girl!” She kicked at Karen’s legs once.

Karen scrambled to her feet, adjusting her nightgown. “Fine. I’ll go clean the stables.”

Mary-Beth had already decided to stand. Ms. Grimshaw appreciated that. “Mary-Beth, you’ll do laundry for now.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” She smiled and nodded at the old woman.

“Excellent, I expect you all downstairs in no less than ten minutes.” Grimshaw turned and exited, shutting the door behind her.

“Dear god.” Karen growled. “I never thought I’d appreciate Bill, but here I am.”

“Sorry, Karen. You got the worst deal.” Tilly said.

“Yeah, well. Chopping wood’s no fun either.” Karen replied, then looked to Mary-Beth. “You got off easy, little girl.”

Mary-Beth smiled slyly. “I am well aware.”

The three of them dressed quickly, Karen and Tilly threw on their absolute worst clothing, Mary-Beth stuck with the usual. They did their hair up quickly as they could, and made it downstairs with moments to spare.

Ms. Grimshaw was waiting impatiently. “Alright, ladies be on your way now. I’ve got my eyes on you Karen.” She paused. “In fact, I’ll be following you out to the horse barn just to be sure.” She grabbed Karen by the shoulder and ushered her to the front door, leaving Mary-Beth and Tilly behind.

“Well, guess I’ll be chopping wood now.” Tilly said, looking at the other young woman.

“Don’t lose any fingers.” Mary-Beth teased.

“I know how to chop wood, Mary-Beth. I’ve done it plenty in the past.” She shot back, her voice full of faux-offense.

Mary-Beth moved towards the under-stairs closet where laundry supplies were kept. “I know, I know. I’ll be in the washroom by the office if you need me.”

Tilly nodded and walked through the dinning room, avoiding the few straggling men eating the last of their breakfast, into the kitchen, avoiding the spill on the floor, and out the back door. Only to be meet by the sound of chopping wood.

“Arthur!” She exclaimed. “You don’t have to do that.”

She watched as the brawny fool swung the axe down, severing a log in two, and leaving the axe stuck in place. He turned to look at her. “Mornin’ Ms. Tilly. Do we have too much firewood already? I haven’t been cutting as much. It is getting warmer.”

“No, I just . . . Grimshaw told me to come do this, you should be working on the new barn.”

He shook his head and jerked the axe from the stump in a single motion. “Aww . . . don’t worry ‘bout it Tilly, I got this covered. They ain’t starting on the barn just yet. And I’ll be out again today with Uncle.”

“Save your energy, just let me do it.” Tilly walked forward.

“Ms. Tilly. I’m fine. I don’t need your help.” He was almost stern.

Now she was getting irritated. “You think I can’t do it?”

“Of course you can do it.” He put another log on the stump.“It’s just that I’ve been doing this every morning for nearly twenty years. Or at least every morning that I was in camp.”

“So take a break from it then. I’ll finish up for you, and you can go get breakfast.” She grabbed the handle of the axe and tried to pull it away. It didn’t budge in his grasp. “Just ‘cause you’ve been doing this for twenty years don’t mean you always have to. I get it Arthur, I’m sure you’re better at it than I am, but I’m suppose to today.”

“That’s not it, Tilly.” He replied. “What I was trying to explain is that I enjoy this.”

“Huh?” She looked up at him, brow raised.

“I chop the firewood every morning because it helps me wake up. Loosens you up, makes you focus. Also kind of relaxing, in an odd way.”

She let the axe go and backed up. “Oh. Then how come you don’t usually do the evening batch?”

“‘Cause I’m tired by then.” He replied honestly, then lifted the axe over his head.

“You might want to move behind me or further away.”

Tilly complied, moving behind him. He expertly swung the axe down, another log split through the middle, the force causing the wood to fling away to either side.

Tilly moved next to him again, grabbing his forearm to stop him from doing more. She looked back and forth, seeing that no one else was around. “I have to be doing something, Arthur. If Grimshaw catches me sitting around, I’ll get the scolding of a life time.”

“Where is she now?”

“Dragging Karen to the stable, making sure she’ll clean it.”

Arthur smiled wide, blue eyes lighting up. “Karen’s gonna clean up after the horses today?”

“She sure is.” Tilly laughed.

“Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Me neither.” Tilly paused for a moment. “Just let me chop the damn wood.”

Arthur laughed, ripping the axe from the stump and pushing the handle into her arms. “Fine, fine. I’ll just take what I’ve cut and go. I’ve done about half of what’s needed, so I’ll go put it on Pearson’s pile. You can do the parlor pile.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan.”

“My pleasure, Ms. Jackson.” Arthur tipped his hat and did as he said, gathering up the chunks of wood and taking them to the pile by the backdoor.

After he’d gathered the wood and returned inside, Tilly turned her attention to the task at hand. Picking up a shorter log to start and placing it on the cutting stump, she lifted the axe over her head and swung down. The log was halved successfully in one go. “Said I could do it.” She reassured herself.

The next log was not so lucky, missing twice before managing to hit it, only traveling about halfway though the wood. She lifted the axe, the wood stuck to the blade, then slammed it back down, cutting it the rest of the way. The house, being as large as it was, required a big supply of firewood. Not only for the kitchen, but for the many fireplaces and woodstoves throughout the house. Now that it was getting warmer, the farmhouse didn’t need to be heated all through the day, but at night and in the morning when it was much colder, the fireplaces needed to be fueled. So Tilly continued chopping wood for nearly a half hour. She was slower than Arthur would have been, but he had more practice at it than her.

After those thirty minutes, she had a decent sized batch. Tilly stacked as many pieces of firewood as she could in her arms before walking to the backdoor, somehow managing to maneuver and open it. Pearson was gone, but the spill was still there. She sighed, she’d probably have to deal with that at some point. She took a left and went through the office, or what would eventually be the office, then a right into the parlor, dumping the chopped logs by the fireplace.

She repeated this process several more times until all the wood she’d cut was neatly stacked and ready to go. It was at this point that Susan Grimshaw decided to, unintentionally or not, sneak up on Tilly. “You done with the firewood yet?” Her harsh voice suddenly sounded behind the young woman.

Tilly leaped into the air, scrunching her shoulders and standing up straight. She quickly relaxed herself and turned around. “Yes Ms. Grimshaw. Both the parlor and kitchen have been restocked with firewood.”

“Very good. You were pretty fast, maybe Arthur’ll be out’ve a job by the day’s end.”

Tilly just nodded along, she _absolutely_ chopped all of it. He wouldn’t rat her out either. “What would you like me to do next?”

“Feed the chickens and horses. Then I’ll have Mary-Beth brush and exercise them.”

“Of course, Ms. Grimshaw.” Tilly smiled.

“Karen’ll still be in there, be sure she doesn’t slack off, will you? I’ll be checking in on you in due time.” With that, Grimshaw turned and headed off to bother someone else.”

Tilly exhaled and shook her head. She walked outside to the horse stable. Calling out for Karen once she made it into the old barn. “How you doing, Karen?”

“‘Bout as poorly as you might imagine, Tilly.” She called from a distance, as annoyed as Tilly had ever heard. But the emotions were not directed at her.

“Sorry, I’m going to put hay in with the horses. Which stalls have you cleaned?”

Karen appeared from out of a stall, pitchfork full of horse manure, she dumped it into the wheelbarrow she’d stationed by the stall door. “I’ve done six.” She pointed out the cleaned stalls.

Tilly nodded. “Thank you.”

“Sure, happy to help.” Sarcasm. Nothing but sarcasm.

Tilly climbed the ladder to the hayloft, not having been up there for awhile, she didn’t fully know what to expect. She had a feeling they were getting low on hay, which turned out to be the case. But there was still plenty for the time being, and soon the horses would be able to graze on the green spring grass outside.

Tilly grabbed one bale at a time, taking them to the edge of the loft and dropping them onto the floor below. There were sixteen stalls, some holding two horses. So she dropped off hay equal to the number of horses. Upon dropping the last one, she heard Karen yelp. “Watch it, Tilly!” Karen yelled up at her.

Tilly peaked over the edge down at the blond woman, she was picking straw out of her hair. “Sorry!” Tilly shrunk back.

Karen sighed. “I know you didn’t mean to, but Christ almighty, this day could not get any worse.”

Tilly climbed back down the ladder. Skirt making it more difficult to see the rungs, so she took it slow and steady. Once she was down, she took a single hay bale per horse to each clean stall. Karen was only done with eight, so Tilly took this time to feed the chickens. Opening the door to the tack room, she found the open bag of chicken feed. She grabbed the nearby metal scoop and dipped it in. As she went back out, the hens were already looking at her curiously. “Come here, ladies.” Tilly said sweetly. “Here chic-chic-chickens.”

At her call, the hens darted up to her, some flapping their wings and taking off on a short flight to get to her faster. She tossed handfuls of feed to the floor, the hens pecking and scratching at it, voicing their contentment with long and low clucks. Tilly returned the scoop to the tack room and shut the door so no chicken could sneak in and eat itself to death. The unfortunate fate of one such leghorn from a few years back.

Karen still had a few stalls to go, Tilly went and set the appropriate number of bales outside of each of them, then she went to aid Karen. “Let me help you for a bit, can I take the wheel barrow out for you?”

“Absolutely.” Karen smiled. “That shouldn’t even be a question.”

Tilly pushed the wheelbarrow out the west barn door to the compost and manure pile that’d slowly been building up a ways away. They were intending to use it for a garden Pearson had been planning behind the farmhouse. She lifted the wheelbarrow up at the handles, emptying the contents onto the pile. Tilly returned inside the barn. She and Karen repeated this three more times before all stalls were cleaned, adding the hay each time a stall was completed, much to the satisfaction of the horses.

Once again, Ms. Grimshaw had the timing of a vaudeville comedy. Turning up just as they were done. “Are things tidied up in here?” She asked flatly.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Replied Karen, straining her voice to sound polite.

“Very good. Karen, you’re to clean up the floors in the house. The men dragged in a bunch of mud last night. Disgraceful.”

Karen looked ready to leap at the old woman. “Won’t they just bring in more mud today?” She said through gritted teeth. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to wait until the barn’s all built before we clean all the floors?”

Grimshaw turned and glared at the blond. “We will clean the floors when they are dirty, not when they are dirtier.”

“Whatever you say, Ma’am.” She replied, forced smile plastered to her face.

Susan turned her attention to Tilly. “You’ll go get started on lunch. Pearson’s helping with the building too, so we need to pick up the slob’s slack.”

“Of course, Ms. Grimshaw. I’ll get right on that.” Tilly went to the door. “I assume stew will be okay . . . again?”

“Yes, Ms. Jackson. Stew is fine. So long as you can cook it better than Pearson, anything you make will be okay. Keep in mind, cooking better than that man isn’t a challenge.”

Tilly nodded and returned through the mud and slush to the farmhouse. She wiped her boots off to the best of her ability, Karen would be cleaning up soon, so it didn’t matter too much, then proceeded through the dinning room to the kitchen.

Through the back window, Tilly could see Mary-Beth hanging up cleaned laundry, Abigail was helping. So Grimshaw must have gotten to her a little later. It was nice to be able to dry clothes outside again. Hanging clean laundry in the office had been difficult, especially considering the sheer volume of clothes from twenty something people. Jack was swinging a stick around nearby, perhaps pretending he was a knight or warrior like he read about in his many storybooks.

Tilly returned to the task at hand, starting up a decent fire in the wood stove. She set a large pot over the top, filling it partially with clean water from the barrel close by. Next, she grabbed fresh vegetables from the pantry to be chopped. She found several carrots, a few potatoes and a couple onions. She chopped them up, and was glad no one else was around when she sliced into the onion. The tears were relentless. She’d always been particularly susceptible to them. The water was getting hotter, but not quite boiling. She threw the carrots in anyway as they required the most amount of time to cook. A few men had recently gone hunting, so there were plenty of good cuts of meat to choose from.

After picking some nice looking slabs of venison, Tilly glanced out the side window, towards the new barn. They were making progress. With the frame complete, they were adding siding, roofing, doors, and windows. She was wholly surprised that nobody had died or been severely injured yet, and that the building itself was symmetrical and actually looked like a barn. That was entirely thanks to the men they’d hired and not the ex-outlaws trying to look like they knew what they were doing.

She figured she could see Arthur and Dutch having a conversation a ways away from the barn. Usually they were easy to pick out, seeing as how they were both tall men, and those hats were unmistakable. Upon closer inspection, it looked more like an argument based on body language. Part of her wanted to know what they were fighting about, the other part wanted to keep out of the drama. Dutch could be nasty if he was in the wrong mood. It wasn’t long before she saw Hosea come marching from the house, joining in on whatever the two big men were bickering about.

Drawing her eyes upward, a few of the men were on the roof, laying in the wooden shingles. One was definitely Sean, based on hair color and paleness. He was trying to do something that he must have thought was funny, when he lost his footing and tumbled right off the roof. Crashing into the ground. His surprised scream could be heard from well within the house.

Tilly gasped in shock, she droppedthe knife onto the counter and rushed through the backdoor. Abigail and Mary-Beth had seen, or at least heard, as well. Abigail grabbed Jack and seemed to have decided to keep him away from the scene. Mary-Beth was dumbstruck, unmoving and staring out towards the work in progress barn. Tilly hiked up her skirt and ran towards the men who were now crowding around the crumpled body, with the hired construction workers keeping at a distance, many simply going back to work. “Is he okay?” She asked no on in particular, a little out of breath.

Sean answered her question inadvertently. Tilly would have thought him dead, or at the very least knocked out, until she heard his incessant whining. There was an extremely elongated groan followed by a “fuck’s sake!” The Irishman groaned again. “That really fuckin’ hurted.”

The other men from the roof had managed to climb down at that point. John was amongst them. “What the hell were you thinking, Sean? Or no, that’s the problem, you weren’t thinking. Did you hit your head? Maybe you got brain damage and are gonna end up even dumber than you already were.”

“Shut up, Johnny. Just trying ta have a good time.”

Javier laughed. “Maybe save having a good time for when you’re not on a roof, amigo.”

“Especially a roof that’s still being built.” Lenny added.

“My god, I coulda died. I’m currently in a great deal of pain, and all you boys are doing is giving me shite.” Sean scowled at them.

There was an annoyed sigh, then Arthur pushed himself through the crowd, Hosea close behind. Arthur crouched next to Sean’s curled body. “Are you alright?” He asked in all seriousness.

“Do I look fucking alright to you, English?” He yelled.

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed again, more annoyed than before. He reopened them and looked back down. “ _Will_ you be alright?”

Sean was silent longer than usual. Maybe he _did_ have brain damage. “I’ll be fine in a bit I suppose.” He looked up at Arthur, a devilish grin on his face. “I’ll be even better with some whiskey.”

“Christ’s sake.” Arthur shook his head and stood, stepping back a bit.

Hosea took his place crouched by Sean. “Care to tell me where it hurts most? Can you move all your limbs?”

Sean wiggled his arms and kicked his legs. “Looks like it.”

“And the pain?” Hosea asked again.

“Everywhere, old man.”

Hosea gave him a look.

Sean caved instantly. “Okay, ummm . . . mostly in my right shoulder where I landed.”

Hosea went to say something else when Dutch at last cut in, having kept his distance for the most part. “Let’s get you inside to do the interrogating. Get that whiskey into your system too.” Dutch leaned over and grabbed Sean’s left hand, squeezing it in affirmation. “You’ll be okay, son.”

“Of course he’ll be okay. All he did was fall from a not-all-that-high roof.” Arthur scoffed.

Dutch ignored him and pulled Sean to his wobbly feet, letting go of his hand and patting the young Irishman’s back.

Tilly spoke up. "Let me help him back to the house."

"Thank you, that is very kind of you, Ms. Jackson.” Dutch replied.

“Of course, Dutch.” As she moved forward, the men parted out of her way so she could reach the middle. She threw Sean’s left arm over her shoulder and began to walk forward, the men parting even further now. It was hard to tell if Sean was playing up how injured he was or not. But he was certainly lagging behind, leaning heavily into her. He was dragging his feet through the mud and hardly shuffling forward. It seemed like it would take about five minutes to reach the house at the excruciatingly slow pace they were going.

Suddenly the weight from her shoulder was lifted from her. Tilly turned quickly, afraid Sean had fallen backwards. Instead, Arthur had pulled the Irishman off her and hoisted him over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Arthur gave Tilly a knowing look. All of a sudden Sean had a lot more energy. “Aw, English, yer ruining my fun!”

Arthur walked ahead of Tilly towards the house as Sean flailed weakly in his grasp. He craned his head up to look at Tilly as he was slung over the larger man’s shoulder. “Could I get some help here, Ms. Jackson?”

Tilly laughed. “Absolutely not, Sean. You don’t get to tease me like that, try to make me drag you all the way back to the house and then expect my pity. You little bastard.”

“Can you blame me? I just had the worst fall of my life!”

“Would you shut up?” Arthur growled at him. “I’m about to give you the next worst fall of your life. Drop you so hard your jaw breaks. Maybe then you’ll never run your mouth again.”

They had made it to the front door, Tilly opened it for Arthur, and inadvertently Sean too. “You’re so charming, you know that Arthur?” Sean berated him.

Arthur unceremoniously tossed Sean onto the couch. The younger man bounced once on the cushions. “Ow! Shit! That hurts you daft idiot.”

Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning to Tilly. “I have to go back out. Sorry you got stuck dealing with this fool.”

“I can still hear you, ya know?”

Sean was ignored. “If he gives you any trouble, just come get one of us. Preferably me or Hosea, but I’m heading to the horse barn to head out. So John, Lenny, or Charles would probably help you too.”

“Of course, Arthur.” Tilly smiled. “And thank you for carrying the moron in here.”

“I am right here.”

Ignored again. “Happy to help, I suppose I owed you for chopping the rest of the firewood this morning.”

Tilly smiled proudly. “Told you I could do it.”

He pat her shoulder twice as he passed by towards the door. “Never doubted you for a second, Ms. Jackson.” He turned to look at her as he opened the front door. “Ask Swanson to check him for any broken bones if he’s sober enough. And try not to let Karen kill Sean. If you can help it.”

“Will do, Arthur.”

He exited, from outside she heard his voice fait from the distance. “But accidents happen I suppose.”

She turned around to see Sean hobbling towards the dining room, finding the crate of whiskey and pulling one out. He took the top off and gulped down a huge swig.

Tilly eyed him suspiciously, “Did you hurt yourself to get out of working?” She asked sternly.

“Not exactly, it _was_ an accident. But this has been a pleasant bonus.” Sean smiled, cheeky, returning to the parlor.

Tilly rolled her eyes and turned on her hells, heading into the office, Strauss was at the desk looking intently at a book or ledger of some kind. She avoided speaking to him, and went to knock on the storage room turned bedroom where Swanson, Strauss, and Pearson slept. “Reverend, you in here?”

There was a groan, then some shuffling. The door pulled open and the lanky, wild-haired figure of Reverend Orville Swanson emerged. He looked . . . sober enough. “Could you go check on Sean? He fell from the roof while they were working on it. He’s in the parlor right now. ”

“Y-yes of course, Ms. Tilly.” He replied, coherent. Likely just woke up and hadn’t had time to get into the morphine or whiskey yet. Probably had a hangover though.

Walking with him back to the parlor, they were meet with an empty couch where an Irishman once sat. Tilly glanced around quickly. Not seeing that shock of red hair standing out anywhere. The reverend looked confused, but perhaps he figured he was high or drunk. So he stood there doing nothing.

“This ain’t funny, Sean.” She sighed. “Get out here so Swanson can properly check you for injuries.”

When silence replied, Tilly groaned and scoured the room further. Before she knew it she was playing a game of hide and seek throughout the whole house. The usually easy to spot, loud Irishman gone completely. After about ten minutes of this, Tilly gave up. She had a lot left to do, and if Sean wanted to curl up in an obscure cabinet somewhere in hopes of pulling off a good scare, then so be it. She’d rather not deal with any more lectures from Susan Grimshaw.

•••••

“It sure is another beautiful day!” Uncle sung out, immediately knocking Arthur out of his trance admiring the beauty of the day.

“If you say so.”

“You’re no fun.” Uncle sighed.

“It ain’t been a fun couple days.” He growled out. “Indifference or straight forward violence is all we’ve been getting.”

“The one we just visited seemed alright.”

“They’ve all seemed ‘alright’ ain’t a single one willing to help.”

“This is an odd time to be looking to buy, Arthur. The big auctions usually are at the end of the year. There’s still gonna be livestock up for bid throughout the year, so we’d have better luck in town at one of their weekly auctions I’m sure, instead of just pestering the locals.”

“Weren’t my idea to go gallivanting around making ourselves look like fools.”

“No, that would be a grand plan from Mr. Van der Linde.”

Arthur huffed. His attempt to talk Dutch out of this had gone about as smooth as he’d expected this morning. Somehow the whole thing got twisted into an argument. But that’s just how it went some days. The man was probably stressed by barn building. That’s it. “Yes, Dutch put us up to this. Let’s just get this last one over with so we can get back to some form of the normalcy we had going on through March.”

“This gang, normal? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. He encouraged Boadicea to pick up the pace a bit, up to a nice steady canter.

The smoothness of the day, which was not smooth at all, naturally proceeded to get rougher. Behind him, Arthur heard the sound of galloping, sometimes that just meant someone was in a hurry and passing by, but in his line of work that could also mean someone was in a hurry to rob you. So quick and easy as ever, Arthur drew his schofield, and cocked the hammer, ready to pull the trigger if the situation required.

“You mind waiting up?” Yelled a familiar voice.

Looking over his shoulder Arthur just about had a migraine on the spot. Up ran the American Standardbred, Ennis, and that eager Irish boy, Sean, sat atop his back.

“What the _HELL_ are you doing here?” Arthur growled out, hand still gripping his sidearm.

Uncle laughed at the sight, using this sudden interruption to pull out some whiskey.

“Dutch sent me of course.” Came the obvious lie of a reply, Sean slowing his horse down to join them

Hammer still cocked, pulling the trigger was becoming more and more likely. “No he did not. Why you following us, Macguire?”

Ennis at a full stop at last, Sean did not flitch. “My Da always sai-“

“No.” Arthur cut him off. “I don’t care what your dear old Da told you. Get the hell back to the Ranch.”

“Why? All I’d be doing is laying around after my wee tumble. Let me help you!”

“What would you know about buying cattle?” Arthur shot back.

“And what would you, a life-long outlaw, know?” Sean challenged with a growing grin.

“Yes, that being the case you know I’ve rustled cattle before. I know what to look for, boy.”

“Do you now? How about you teach me then? You said yesterday that I ought to learn something.”

“If it’s anything like you trying to learn how to build a barn, you’re gonna joke around and screw this up too. Maybe hurt yourself even more this time.”

There was something of a giggle from Uncle now, “Aww, just let the kid come along, Arthur. You don’t gotta be so rough all the time. Have some fun for once, would you?”

Knowing these two, he was either gonna be stuck arguing with them for the rest of the day, or stuck arguing with them while _working_ for the rest of the day. He shook his head, his decision made. “Fine, get moving we got one last place to check then we can go home.” Then he mumbled to himself. “And my headache can be over.”

He didn’t even have to look at Sean to know there was a shit-eating grin on the fool’s face. But surprisingly, he didn’t say anything to egg Arthur on further, perhaps smart enough to not risk the leeway he’d just received.

Taking the lead, Arthur rode forth once more, Uncle and Sean right behind him, yammering on and on, telling stories that were becoming increasingly boisterous and farfetched. Doing their utmost to outdo the other.

Then finally, _finally,_ the final stop on their short journey appeared over the horizon. Painted Bronco Ranch. Slowing up he at last zoned back into what was immediately around him, managing to catch the latest bullshit that Sean was spewing out.

“My Da once shot twelve - ”

“ _Enough_.” Arthur said suddenly, the first thing he’d said in nearly an hour, startling both Sean and Uncle.

“I was just gettin’ to the good part!” Sean whined.

“Keep complaining and I’ll send you back for real.” Arthur threatened. “We’re here, so shut up and let me deal with it all.”

Approaching the property, it was plain to see this was the most put together and well-operated farm of them all. Beautiful structures and well maintained fencing with barbed wire at the top. However they were otherwise ignored by the farmhands, most of which were scrambling about, frantic for whatever reason. Trying and failing to grab the attention of one, he was at last approached by an older woman, riding up on a paint horse.

“You need something?” She asked, her accent similar to those found in New Austin or Texas. “We’re a bit uh . . . out of sorts here at the moment.” Arthur recognized the subtle look of concern on her face as she eyed him and the two men behind him. “Never seen the likes of you before. So if you’re here to sell us something I don’t got time for it.”

“We were looking to buy, actually.”

For some reason this made the woman snort, but she appeared to relax the smallest amount. “Well if you wanted livestock from us, our herd that was going to auction just got stolen, so there goes your luck.”

Taken aback “Oh.” Arthur uttered dumbly. “I am sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too.” She replied.

Unable to hold his tongue any longer it seemed, Sean butt in. “When didya lose them, lady?”

A brow raised, the older woman gave Sean quite the look before answering. “Last night. And it’s Grieve, Irene Grieve, not ‘lady.’”

Sean tried to speak again but Arthur silenced him. “Don’t mind him, he’s an idiot.”

“Very charming.”

“Yes, very. You know who took them?” He asked.

Irene narrowed her eyes. “Why you need to know that?”

“Just curious if you’re gonna be able to get them back is all.” Throwing up his hands defensively.

“Well it’s not gonna be easy, they ain’t branded yet. Just about anyone could take them, slap their brand on and even with these papers there’s not much I can do.” She shook her head. “And I can’t just go marching over to Lloyd Creek demanding my cattle and sheep back.” Suddenly she looked up at him again. “Say, what did you want to buy, Mister -”

“Callahan.” Arthur finished. “Arthur Callahan. And these are my associates” He pointed behind himself at Sean. “Sean Mellamphy.” then to Uncle. “And Uncle.”

She stared blankly a second, waiting for something more. “Uncle what?”

“Just Uncle.” The man himself said cheerily.

Irene continued her blank stare, then shook her head.

Arthur continued. “And we are new in the area, recently purchased a ranch up the mountain a ways, and were looking to acquire some livestock.”

She gave him a quick nod of understanding. “So here’s the thing then, I can’t go get that livestock back by myself. I can’t send any of the hands to do it either. Losing them animals is not ideal, but we can survive it. We still have our own herd that was not going to market. But you, you need them.”

“What you getting at?” He already knew, but needed it said flat out.

“How about you and your Irish friend and . . . Uncle, go and help me get my animals back.

“Why can’t your hands do it?”

“To be blunt, I won’t put the lives of my own people at risk.”

Arthur huffed. “But you’ll risk yourself and the lives of others?”

She shrugged. “You don’t have to like it, but I owe it to them as the head of this ranch to look out for their own well being. And I won’t force them to do something I wouldn’t do myself.”

He paused. “But you are doing it.”

“Sure am. So are you willing?”

They really needed cattle for the coming season. And he’d had no luck with any of the other nearby ranchers. There was always a chance with the upcoming auctions in Little River. But . . .

“Fine. We’ll help you. So long as we get a good deal out of it.”

Irene laughed. “Oh sure, you’ll get a fine deal. Anything’d be better than earning nothing at all from this herd.” She gently tugged the reins on her horse, moving back towards the big house. “I need to tell my partner I’ll be out for the evening. And grab my guns of course.” She urged her horse to move, looking back at the three of them. “I’ll be just a moment, don’t wander nowhere.”

Arthur glanced at his two companions, both giving him different incredulous looks. He sighed. “We _need_ this herd. It’ll get Dutch off our backs.”

Sean chuckled. “Or it’ll get him angrier for sticking our heads in business we don’t belong in.”

“Since when did you back down from this kind of action, Sean Macguire?”

“Oh no, I’m loving it.” Sean grinned in earnest. “Can’t wait.”

“Sure it’ll be fun putting ourselves in the middle of a feud between two other ranches.” Uncle said. “I imagine we’re really setting ourselves up to be the favorite neighbor.”

“At least we’ll be getting ourselves on the good side of what looks to be one of the best run farms in the area. If I remember correctly, Lloyd Creek was a shit stain and one of their boys threatened to shoot my head off.”

Uncle shrugged. “I guess you have a point there. I like this lady.”

Not too long after, Irene reappeared from inside, two guns slung across her back and a gun belt at her waist. At her side was another woman, around the same age, a bit shorter, a bit softer, but perhaps that just hide a toughness within.

Irene’s horse followed and she mounted up once rejoined with the three of them. She quickly made introductions “This is my partner, Nora.”

The other woman nodded towards them “Pleasure. Now don’t go doing nothing foolish.” She said to no one in particular.

“Since when did I act like a fool, Nora?”

“Since the day I met you, Irene.”

The taller woman rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the smile. “We’ll be back, and with our herd too.”

Nora turned to Arthur, giving him a good hard stare. “I am serious. Don’t let nothing happen.”

He nodded. “You have my word.” He said. “As much as that can get you.”

She sighed. “We’ll see I suppose.” Reaching up she took Irene’s hand. “Be safe now.”

Grasping it back Irene nodded. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Oh I have plenty to worry over.” Nora let go. “But I’ll save that for when you’re gone.”

Irene urged her horse forward. “Then let’s get ourselves gone so you can get to worrying.”

Arthur tipped his hat to the shorter woman. “Ma’am.”

“Nice ta meetcha!” Sean called out as he turned Ennis and took off.

“M’lady.” Uncle said, far too cheery.

Then they were off. Arthur was familiar enough with where they were going, having visited the place a day prior. But respectfully he let the lady lead. Not much for talk apparently, but she did explain how the cattle were stolen. “Came last night.” She said. “Maybe five or six of them. Nearly killed one of our men then let the herd out, leading them back to their own place. The tracks were obvious enough, and our ranch hand, half dead, told us the rest.”

“Christ.” Arthur replied. “Did he make it?”

“He should pull through. Miguel is a strong one.” She said simply.

Nightfall was approaching when the dingy structures of Lloyd creek appeared over the horizon, murky and muddy from snowmelt. They cast dark silhouettes in the steadily setting sun, and long, ever growing shadows. 

An outcropping of trees sat just beyond a poorly maintained field for grazing. Without so much as a word, Irene headed for the cover they provided. Weaving through the foliage and low branches, she brought them to a stop just before the woods opened up into the grassy field beyond.

Pulling his binoculars from his satchel, Arthur took a quick look out into the farm. Scanning for any sign of the missing livestock. He didn’t find any animals, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. “What’s your plan, Ms. Grieve?” He muttered quietly.

“We need to figure out where they are first, don’t we?” She replied, rummaging around her saddlebag and pulling out her own pair.

He gestured towards the structures. “Can’t see them out there.”

Irene nodded, going to observe the scene herself.

Sean walked Ennis closer, putting his hand out for the binoculars, “How ‘bout I take a look, old man? My young eyes will see much better than yours.”

The kid’d never had much luck with them, but knowing it would keep him entertained and less annoying, Arthur handed them over. A big smile spread across the young man’s face, immediately bringing them up to his eyes he looked out towards Lloyd Creek. His smile suddenly gone.

“See anything?” Arthur asked.

After a pause, “Can’t see a damn thing,” he grumbled. “It’s all still blurry.” Sean pushed the binoculars back into Arthur’s hands. “I’ll never understand the point of those. Every pair I’ve ever used don’t do nothing.”

Arthur grinned. “So much for those young eyes of yours.”

“Shut up.”

Turning to Uncle, Arthur handed the binoculars to the old man. “See if you can spot anything, since you’re an expert after all.”

Putting his whiskey away real quickly, Uncle took the binoculars from Arthur. “Course, you can count on me.” He said.

Irene muttered beside him. “Did you get something?” He asked.

“No animals, but I do see a few men coming from that barn on the west there.”

It took him but a moment to locate the building she spook of, then pulling his bolt action from the saddle, Arthur used his scope to take a look. Just as she said, he saw the black silhouettes of people coming from the building, and light spilling out from the entrance before the doors were quickly closed.

“You think they’re in there?” He muttered.

“It’s the best keep structure they have.” She replied. “I imagine they’d want to keep them where they think they won’t get out.”

“Not to mention all the people and the lights.”

She made a humming sound. “You don’t imagine that’s where the farm hands sleep, do you?”

“Could be.” He said simply. “Seems to be enough other buildings around they could be in though.”

“What do you feel then, Mr. Callahan?”

He shrugged. “We’re gonna run out of light soon. We can keep observing from here till the sun’s down, then get closer when we run out of lighting and go when it’s darker to stay hidden from them.”

“Not a bad idea.” Irene replied, lowering the binoculars to look at him. Then she looked over at the other two. “Either of you got anything?”

Sean shrugged. “I’d go in guns a blazing, but I know Arthur here wouldn’t like that. He’s getting too old for that kind of activity.”

The big man sighed, his hand on his face. Seems like he’d been spending most of the day with the bridge of his nose pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Uncle spoke up next. “They got that other barn there, on the east side.” He pointed in the direction. “You think they got anything in there?”

Irene took up her binoculars again, glancing over. “Might be their own stock in there, or their men, or nothing at all. Much to small to hold my herd they stole.”

“Well I was thinking, maybe we could use that building for something.”

“What kind of something?” Arthur asked.

“I don’t know yet.” Uncle admitted.

“You snuck some whiskey on this journey, like me, didn’t you?” Sean said suddenly.

“Snuck is not the word I’d use.” Arthur grumbled.

Uncle put the binoculars down. “Oh, so you think we co-“

Sean interrupted the old man. “If you say anything other than light the barn on fire, you’re an idiot.”

Uncle froze for a second. “You know what never mind what I was going to say, I like that better.”

Before Arthur could object, Irene made quite the laugh. “Oh I like you three. Let’s do it.”

Arthur looked over to her, mouth slightly agape. He snapped out of it very quickly. “Okay then. I guess we’re lighting a barn on fire.”

“I wanna be the one who lights it up.” Sean said, eagerly patting his coat down in search of something.

“Hold on we need more of a plan than that.” Arthur stopped him. “And I think I got it.” 

\------

With the sun gone, they snuck up closer to the property, keeping their horses back to graze and stay out of sight. They separated into two groups. Uncle and Sean going left, to the east. Irene and Arthur going right, to the west.

Light no longer seeped from the better of the two barns, but Arthur could tell by the stench and various sounds that there indeed were cattle and sheep within.

Peaking in a window, he was met with darkness and the obvious shapes of animals inside. He took one very quick look around the interior, finding two men while he scanned.

He ducked back down, giving Irene a glance. If he remained quiet enough the men inside would not hear it over the animals, so he whispered. “Lots of animals inside, two farmhands.”

She nodded.

“One’s by the door, the other one wandering.” He paused. “I think it’s cattle and sheep in there.”

She nodded again.

“Both herds yours?” He asked.

One more nod.

“Okay, I say we make a bit of noise, draw them out and knock them out.”

“Alright.” She replied, matching his quiet volume. “Hopefully these animals will listen to me when we get in there. They should know me well enough, but they’re confused I’m sure.”

They started to creep towards the lighted front door of the building, “If I can avoid killing anyone, I’d prefer it that way.” Arthur muttered.

“Do what you have to.” She said simply. “One way or another you’re doing me, and yourself truthfully, a favor and risking your own life, I will not judge you harshly.”

Even quieter, now that they were just around the corner, he whispered. “If they come out one at a time, I’ll get them both. But if they come out at the same time you’re gonna have to - ”

“I’m well aware.” Irene stopped him. “Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

With that, they positioned themselves on either side of the big barn doors. A couple knocks on the door, some noise inside from one of the men, and the door nearer to Irene opened, one groggy, thin looking farmhand stepped out. Intense dark shadows from the single lantern outside revealed the gauntness of his face.

The door blocked the man from Irene’s view, and Arthur wentfor him. Grabbing his arm he yanked the farmhand closer. He only got a fraction of a surprised yelp out before Arthur had him around the corner and on the ground, hands around the man’s neck, choking him.

Unfed, smaller, and much thinner, he was unable to fight Arthur’s powerful grasp on him. That didn’t stop him from flailing and kicking, and therefore didn’t stop him from making unwanted noise. But in a matter of twenty seconds or so, the man’s struggling gradually weakened, then stopped altogether, out cold.

After a few more moments, just to be sure he was really unconscious, Arthur stood and rounded the corner again, just in time to hear a loud crack and watch as Irene smacked the other man across the face with a shovel. He stumbled backwards a bit before collapsing, bleeding from his nose and mouth. Without a word, Arthur dragged the man back towards the darker side of the barn.

They waited a few moments before going in, trying to see if there were anymore men inside Arthur may not have noticed, who might come out. Only the subtle grunts and mooing of cows, and bleating of sheep came from the barn, so the two of them snuck in, closing the doors behind them.

A quick search around revealed no more men inside. So Arthur stood guard as Irene looked over the animals in the dim light. “These are them.” She said quietly. “I can’t quite count them all, but it looks like the correct number of each animal.”

“How we gonna get them out of here?” Arthur replied, approaching her.

“That’s what your boys are for, right?”

“Well yes. They’re the distraction, but is this herd gonna go where we tell them?”

“Oh they will.” She said simply. “Now let’s get these stalls open.”

With no choice but to trust her, and already in far too deep, he did as she said. One by one they opened the gates, encouraging the livestock out into the center of the big barn. Irene positioned at the back of the herd, Arthur stood at the doors, ready to push them open when they got their signal.

A few minutes passed in near silence. Then he heard it, the shouting and yelling of men, and the unmistakable sound of a steadily growing blaze. Waiting a little bit longer, just to be sure all eyes were focused on the handiwork of Uncle and Sean, Arthur shoved the doors open, and ran outside, getting away from the oncoming livestock as Irene encouraged them forward with whoops and hollers.

With a whistle he called Boadicea towards him, sure that despite the noise she would hear him. A lifetime spent as an outlaw’s mount made her steadfast and brave, she was used to loud and violent commotion. So down the hill he saw her galloping, her champaign blonde coat flickering golden in the growing firelight.

Grabbing hold of the saddle he swung himself up with trained haste and ease. He took the reins and guided Bo to flank the herd, keeping them from heading towards the fire,

He heard a shrill whistle from Irene, followed by an answering whinny up the hill, and then the paint she rode in on came running towards them. Soon enough the older woman was up in her saddle, at the back of the herd, pushing them out towards the big hill they’d been stood up on to spy on this rundown ranch.

Arthur glanced out towards the fire, seeing at last the work of Uncle and Sean. A great big blaze, easily taking the entire structure, men all around yelling and running about, unable to contain the all-consuming fire. Contrasted against the bright light, two dark silhouettes came galloping towards them.

“At the ready, Ms. Grieve, we got two coming up on us!” Arthur called out.

He didn’t bother looking at her, to see if she’d heard, instead splitting his attention between the animals and the oncoming riders.

His precaution proved unnecessary when the riders got closer, that familiar pale Irish lad, laughing his head off. “Do ya see that, Arthur _Callahan_.” He hollered out, gesturing wildly behind him. “That was a mighty fine idea if I do say so myself.”

“We won’t know how good that idea is till we’re out clean, Sean.” Arthur returned, holstering his rifle in the saddle.

He continued laughing. “No, I suppose not!”

Uncle pulled Nell II up next to Irene. “I’ll help with the rear, Sean you go get the other side. We need to get these animals out of here.”

Doing as instructed, surprisingly, Sean went around the back of the animals then to the side opposite of Arthur, keeping a “U” formation and keeping the progressively more frightened animals contained, moving them steadily and swiftly away from the would be rustlers.

It seemed like it would be a clean get away, the livestock were cooperating, Uncle was doing a very good job helping Irene at the back of the heard, Sean was doing just fine in his position. But then, of course, it had to go just a bit sour.

Three fools with long arms came galloping on up just as they neared the tree line where they would be far harder to find and follow.

“You give those animals back, now!” One yelled.

“Ya’ll set our barn on fire.” Screamed another.

“I’ll kill the lot of you!” Growled the last.

Guns drawn the four of them were not about to be stopped by yokels with shotguns. Irene scoffed at them. “These animals ain’t yours to begin with.”

One had a lantern at the end of a repeater, and held the thing up, pointing it at her face, they were at a fair distance, but it was enough. “Wellll, if it ain’t Miss Irene Grieve. You have no claim to these animals. They ain’t branded. Who’s to say who owns them?”

“Exactly.” She replied, pointing her own revolver at the man’s face.

“Brought yourself a posse, did you?” Said another.

“Hey now fellers, w-we don’t have to fight.” Uncle said. “This could all just be a big misunderstanding, just let us take the nice lady’s animals back, and we can pretend none of this ever happened.”

“You. Set. Our. Barn. On. _FIRE_!”

Uncle laughed awkwardly. “Oh. We did, didn’t we.”

“The three of you just gonna talk or are we gonna have some action?” Sean yelled, the furthest from the ranch hands.

The final of them looked at Arthur, pointing the shotgun at him. “Wait a minute . . . I know you.”

Arthur felt a pit in his stomach. What did he know?

“Yeah, you and that old coot came up here yesterday. I knew you were trouble.” He growled again.

Oh. Well that wasn’t so bad. “You must have a good head on your shoulders then.” Arthur mocked.

Then the man went to cock his shotgun, and in a blink of an eye Arthur raised his revolver, firing three shots. All three hitting their marks. Horses whinnied and reared up, bucking and galloping away. Bodies draped from saddles.

“Or had.”

After a bit of silence. Sean let out a groan. “Why’d you have to go and kill ‘em all, Arthur? I didn’t even get a chance.”

“Shut the hell up, Sean.” Arthur snapped. “We don’t got time to waste on you missing all six shots outta that little revolver of yours, waiting for you to reload it, then missing them all again. I’d probably die of old age before you ever actually hit a man you were aiming at.”

“Well damn.” Irene said, giving him hard stare. “You sure you’re a rancher? Not some circus trick shot?”

“No ma’am, I ain’t ever worked at a circus.” If he didn’t count the few times he worked at one for a con or scheme.

“Pfft. Mighty fine shooting for a foreman then.” She shook her head. “I’ve had about enough death and fighting and trouble for one day, let’s get these cattle moving before any more show up.”

They pushed the herd forward, finally getting the animals settled down from all the commotion, keeping a slow pace through the darkness and taking careful steps through the otherwise wooded area. It wasn’t a deep or dense forest, more or less a windbreak for the fields beyond. They came out of it quickly, getting the livestock moving faster then. Not much trusting Uncle or Sean to do it, Arthur doubled back to check for any straggling animals, or any following humans. Finding neither, he galloped back to the others, retaking his position and helping guide the livestock back to where they belonged.

Returned to their proper field and proper barn at Painted Bronco Ranch, he took a good look at the heard that would be theirs soon enough. Strong and healthy animals, all of them. But tired and nervous. They’d had a long, bizarre day.

Once more outside the central house, Irene shook his hand. “They’ll be yours soon enough.” She told him. “I’m going to look them all over for any kind of injury or disease. Or fleas I suppose.”

“I hate to get straight to the business like this, Ms. Greive, but what kind of deal are we looking at.”

She laughed at that. “You waited till _after_ you helped to ask that?”

“I asked before and didn’t get a straight answer.” He replied.

“Fine, fine. For keeping your promise and helping me out of a pinch, you’ll get herd for half the price.”

“Sheep and cattle?” He asked.

“Yes, both. The sheep were raised with those cows, they’re bonded. You’ll take both or neither.”

He didn’t need to think on it long. They _needed_ those animals. And surely Dutch would appreciate not putting all their eggs in one basket by investing in only one kind of livestock. “We’ll make it work.”

“Excellent.” She replied, reaching out to shake his hand again. “To make this simple and efficient, we’re gonna take them on down to the Little River auction in a little over a week, Wednesday, April 13th to be exact. I’d sell them to you here and now, but I imagine you need some time to prepare and speak with your boss. And to be honest I struck a deal with the Little River auction yard, and I can’t quite back out of it now, but don’t worry about having them sold out from under you, I’ll have no problem keeping the herd marked as sold until you arrive.”

Arthur gave her a nod. “It’s a deal then.” He paused. “How much is it?”

She gave him yet another incredulous stare. “Bring me $700 and they’re all yours. All fourty-six animals.”

That would do them just fine. “Thank you, Ms. Greive.” He nodded.

“My pleasure, Mr. Callahan.” She waved him off as he turned to leave. “Good luck with your new ranch. Be kind to the animals and to your land. It’ll get harder before it gets easier.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Arthur called out as he mounted up on Bo, his mare gave a huff. She’d had a long day and must have been aching to get back home. In truth he was too.

Uncle and Sean stood waiting on their respective mounts near the entrance gates. More than obviously ready to return as well. He gave them a nod and they followed after him as he exited.

“Get us a deal?” Uncle asked the moment he caught up.

“Yeah, should please Dutch.”

“Ain’t that nice.” The old man chuckled.

“Ya know you should tell him about all that _I_ did, despite being injured.” Sean said at his other side. “It _never_ would’ve worked without me here.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but the kid _did_ do well today, despite how pushy he’d been. And it wouldn’t be good to deny him that, but it wouldn’t be good to bloat his ego any more than it already was. “Yes, Sean. You helped out all right.”

That smug smile grew two sizes.

“But if you step out of line like that again, you _will_ be sent back.”

He laughed. “Ahhhh, you love me Arthur Morgan. You’re just afraid I’m gonna take your place. It’ll happen. It’s how these things always go.”

Another groan escaped Arthur as they continued on up the road. Chilly yet cloudless, the nearly full moon shinning so brightly above, the stars seemed to loose their glow. Coyotes and owls called through the silence. But vigilance was always required when riding at night. But still it was a nice thrill to know he had a success to report back to Dutch and Hosea. There was a chance they could make this wild idea work yet.

_It’s been a rough few days. Dutch had sent me to sort out this whole livestock situation. Sent me to talk to the neighbors. I have rustled all sorts of animals in my time as an outlaw. It can be an easy job, or a dangerous one. But buying them in sincerity offers a challenge of another sorts. Putting on a good clean honest face and hoping whoever you buy from is doing the same._

_Spending a whole day with Uncle at the insistence of Dutch, and then the next with Uncle AND Sean has tested my patients in ways never done before. But I survived it, and it seems they did too. _

_In the search for livestock, we met a woman who runs a ranch, the Painted Bronco, if I remember correctly. A Ms. Irene Greive. Lost her herd to rustles. Offered the animals to us at a discount if we helped her get them back. With nowhere else to turn I accepted._

_I expect burning down another ranch’s barn is the outlaw in us not quite going to rest. But the lady didn’t mind, and in fact encouraged it. Maybe civilized folks aren’t quite so civilized. Or maybe I knew that all along._

_In the end we got our deal and now Dutch is VERY happy. But I don’t always know which is worse, happy Dutch or unhappy Dutch. Both bring their own problems, don’t they?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are probably some errors but I just need to get this posted and get right along to editing chapter 5.
> 
> I tried to figure out how much live stock would have cost in 1898, don't know how successful I was. 
> 
> I should be back in the swing of things from now on. But I don't want to guarantee weekly chapters like I did. As I know future rewrites will most likely come up. And currently I have quite a few art obligations I need to fulfill. However, I NEVER want to take that long to post an update again, and will do my damnedest not to. Thank you to those who may still have interest in my story after all this time. And thank you to those that showed it in the three chapters I had already posted. Ya'll give me the motivation to keep going.
> 
> LOVE YOU ALL.

**Author's Note:**

> I currently have 14 chapters complete. And each chapter ranges from 8,000-12,000 words. When I started this, I was attempting a new writing style that lead to longer chapters for whatever reason. I hope you enjoyed :D
> 
> Will try to update as frequently as I can.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @prairiemule. I post nothing but Red Dead stuff.


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